Between the Dark
by Resa Aureus
Summary: The sequel to Blacklisted. The Dark Lord has returned, but so has our Boy Hero. Coincidence or not? Draco has made some decisions about his place in the war - between Voldemort, the Order, and a certain infuriating young woman. Snow is asking questions about Margot and Chelsea's prophetic dreams have returned. Book Two of the Map of Our Ruin Trilogy.
1. Prologue: A Hero Going Home

A/N. And…we're back! Happy Hallow's Eve to all! Big shout-out goes to the person who guesses what we'll be dressing Remus up as for his first Halloween!

This is the sequel to the story Blacklisted, which you can find on my profile. Nothing (and I mean nothing) will make sense unless you skedaddle over there and read that story first *smiles*

Voldemort has returned and so has Harry Potter. Coincidence or not? Draco has been assigned the position of Senior Undersecretary to Minister Snow who is asking a lot of questions about Margot. With Harry back in action, faith is restored in the Order and there is a lot of scheming. Meanwhile, Hermione starts her Second Year with Moony's Academy and a new class of Muggle-borns and Draco finds that if he wants to succeed, he'll have to get his hands dirty.

…~oOo~…

"_When your time comes to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song, and die like a hero going home."_

~Tecumseh

Prologue: A Hero Going Home

The sky was steel grey, threatening a storm. But even if the heavens fell in a glorious crash, with lighting and thunder, no one among them would notice. They were all riveted, still as statues, as the Dark Lord and his followers emerged from the Forest.

"Harry…" the youngest Weasley whispered, her voice shattering the silence. "_No_! _Harry_!"

Ron caught his little sister in a firm grip around her arms before she could pitch herself towards Harry's body and Voldemort himself. He wrestled her, choking back his own sobs, murmuring over and over, "Stop, Ginny, please stop…" She sobbed hysterically, earning a cackle from Bellatrix Lestrange.

All of the soldiers, Dumbledore's Army, felt the weight of defeat on their shoulders. There weren't enough of them left to go on, and their opponents had too many to even try. It would be suicide. Many of them, Gryffindors ready to go out blazing, would have fought even so. But the older, the wiser, gave them meaningful stares. The professors and the parents would have as many lives saved as possible, even if it meant surrender.

Remus Lupin was tired. Too tired and beaten. He had no more tears to shed, for he'd lost every single one over the body of his wife. He'd held onto her for as long as possible, until he was finally wrenched away at the news of Harry's journey to the Forest.

The love of his life was dead. Never would he wake up next to her. He'd never watch her hair flash bubblegum pink when she got excited like a three-year-old. He'd never watch her rock their son in his nursery again.

The battle all seemed pointless. He'd lost his wife, they'd lost the fight, and they would lose more loved ones now that the Dark Lord was at large.

He was speaking. Giving a speech that made his minions all bright-eyed and manic. He couldn't process all the words. But when he saw the young Hermione, all stained with dirt and blood, crying silently, he put his hand on her shoulder. He remembered her as an eager just-teenager, crazy-haired, teacher's pet. She was so brilliant and that brilliance would be wasted so young.

Voldemort would kill her. That much Remus was sure of. It would bring him sadistic glee to destroy her. She stood for everything he was against. A Muggle-born, a genius one at that, and Harry Potter's best friend on top of it. It was too perfect.

Remus would not let it happen. Not while he watched. Not when he still had that last flicker of fight left in him.

It wasn't because she was like his wife – because she wasn't, she was the complete opposite – or because he was her professor many years before. No, it was because he saw so much of Lily in her, along with plenty of himself. The brilliance, the stubbornness, the penchant for getting into sticky situations. The determination. The belief that above all Good would prevail.

It was happened faster than he thought when the girl was ripped out from under his hand by Greyback. Hermione fought against him wildly while he clutched all of her hair in his paw of a hand, refusing to lie down and take it even though she knew her fate. She kicked viciously, but next to the hulking Greyback she only looked like an angry kitten.

"Hermione Granger…" Voldemort purred while Greyback forced her onto her knees. "You have been a thorn in my side for far too long, dear. You will be the first of the Mudbloods to die."

There wasn't a single sound from among the crowd.

"Any last words?"

It was quiet for a long time before Hermione shook her head. Remus wished he could cry.

But instead, before Voldemort could put his wand to her head, Remus said, "No."

There were a few gasps and shuffles while Remus walked forward calmly. All of the Death Eaters raised their wands, but their master held up his hand and they all put them away. He wanted to heat what Remus had to say.

"Take me instead," Remus said simply, sounding more confident than he felt. "I'm a half-breed, a half-blood. That will have to do, because I won't let you kill that girl. Not while I watch, not while I live."

"No," Hermione said, almost reflexively. Her eyes were wide with horror, shaking her head slowly.

Voldemort seemed to be calculating the trade, watching Hermione's painful reaction, but then he gave a nod. "I accept your sacrifice, half-breed."

"_No_," Hermione gasped, eyes bulging while Remus walked towards her. "No, no, NO! Please, no! Not him! Kill me, please, not him! _He's got a son_!" she sobbed while Remus lifted her with some effort.

"Go back to your friends," Remus said to her under his breath. "Run. As far and as fast as you can. And please…take care of Teddy."

"_No_!" Hermione begged, tears falling rapidly down her face as she clutched onto Remus tightly. He pulled her back to the very front of the masses of people. Arthur Weasley was the one who took hold of her elbow, keeping her back.

When Remus Lupin kneeled willingly before the Dark Lord, accepting his death and execution, he felt oddly at peace. It was the comfort that Hermione would live and that his son would be in good hands.

Remus closed his eyes. It was only a moment.

And it really was faster than falling asleep.

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	2. In Which Time Has Passed

A/N. As in the prologue of Blacklisted, we saw the death of a hero. First it was Snape and Draco's last moments with him and now Remus and Hermione's last moments with him. It was the moments that changed their lives forever.

Alright, I really am sorry about the prologue. I admit to crying pretty hard when I wrote it. But things get better! I promise! Eventually! Have faith in me!

This picks up about fourteen months after the ending of the last book. So Christmas has passed along with the spring and the summer and then the winter again and it is the beginning of February.

…~oOo~…

Chapter One: In Which Time Has Passed

Draco Malfoy just wanted to go home. Well, maybe not home. He wanted to go anywhere that wasn't the Ministry of Magic. It had been a long day of trials and laws going through circulation, the newest one being passed being the Mudblood Marriage Law, which dictated that no wizard or witch without at least one magic parent could be married legally in Wizarding Britain.

Maybe that was what had him so miserable. The Law had made him think of _her_.

This only reminded him that he would have to see her that evening. It would only be the fifth time he'd seen her in the past fourteen months. If it were up to him, he would have avoided her altogether – but he was still a spy even though Boy Wonder swooped in, back from the grave, and it was as if no one mattered apart from him. Not even their spy.

Well, in all fairness, they all were a bunch of idiots and the fact that he accepted a position directly under Snow made them a suspicious and paranoid as Mad-Eye Moody had been. Understandably so. It was suspicious to even him.

The clock on his desk started singing a soft, Elvish lullaby. He looked at the crystal face of the clock – it had been a gift from his mother, congratulations for his new job – and sighed in relief. He could leave. But he would wait five minutes for everyone else in the office to rush out towards the elevators and avoid running into anyone who wanted to nag him about something or other.

Ever since the very sudden, abrupt advance in his political career, everyone wanted something from him. He'd had so many bribes pushed at him relentlessly that he was actually exhausted with saying no, something he thought he was good at. People wanted to give him money, wanted to ask for money, wanted to steal money. They wanted endorsement, they wanted him to cut ties with other political figures, strengthen them with others, and marry their oldest daughter.

The clock ticked quietly while Draco leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Maybe he could take a quick nap. He knew it would only bring on dreaded dreams, but a few moments of rest would be worth the imaginary cries of a certain Muggle-born.

His door swung open without any warning. There was no knock, so he knew who it was. Even the Dark Lord, Snow, and his father had the decency to announce themselves by knocking or tapping. This was a different element altogether. Element, not woman.

"You'll bring me to dinner tonight," Pansy Parkinson said dictatorially.

"I won't," Draco replied, leaning forward and pretending to be busy with whatever document he got his hands on first. "I am busy. Undersecretaries don't have time for casual dinners."

"You went out with Astoria last week," Pansy said, her nose scrunched distastefully. Even though she'd grown into an okay-looking lady, when she scowled she still had that distinct pug look to her.

"That is because we are courting," Draco said stiffly. "Which makes it a business dinner."

"Don't be cruel, Draco," Pansy said, walking around and perching herself on his desk right beside his chair. She ran one of her perfectly manicured, red nails down his cheekbone and along his jaw. He did not wince, just held perfectly still and stared forward. He was not sure whether the rumors about Pansy's infamous red nails were true or not, but he wasn't prepared to find out. Anyway, poisoned nail polish seemed like a stretch even to him.

"Astoria is too good for you," Pansy said, her voice cooing like he was a baby. She really was growing into the second-coming of Bellatrix. "You need someone as bad as you are."

"Am I right in assuming you have a suggestion?" Draco said wryly.

"You know we're good together," she whispered. "Give me another chance."

"Thank you," Draco said, standing up and straightening his suit jacket. It was becoming a popular trend, suits. More and more wizards were wearing them in the Ministry world, led by Snow who started it all. Draco had always had a good suit growing up, but in the work world you were expected to wear robes. Not anymore. "But no thank you. Go proposition Goyle. I'm sure he'd welcome you back with open arms."

Pansy sniffed indignantly. "That gorilla? I'd rather shag Crabbe."

"Crabbe is dead."

"Exactly. Crabbe's corpse is preferable."

Even Draco wanted to gag at that. God, she was a lunatic. He felt his nose wrinkle distastefully. "Alright, get out of my office, you necrophilic harpy. You're making the place smell like crazy."

"You should be kinder to me," Pansy said, a note of warning in her tone as she shoved off the desk and onto her five-inch heels. She was wearing all red, her new signature color. "After all, we are going to be in each other's lives for a very long time. And you know I have the power to make yours a living hell."

"There was a time where you kissed the ground I walked on, Pans," Draco said, leaning back in his chair and making a steeple of his fingers. "What happened, exactly?"

Before leaving, Pansy turned back to Draco with the strangest look on her face. She said, very simply, "I grew up. As did you." She left without closing the door, as she always did.

Draco almost missed the days where he could count on Pansy to do just about any favor as long as he winked at her during class or paid a little attention to her. Sure, she was needy in Hogwarts and worshipped him to a degree that could almost be considered stalking, but at least if she'd told her to close the door behind her when they were in school, she would have done it.

Draco deemed it safe to leave and walked out of his office and through the mostly-empty desks of his employees. One of the girls was staying behind and doing extra work – likely so she has nothing to worry about over the weekend – while one of the blokes in charge of financial records tried chatting her up, which she seemed to have no interest in.

In the elevator, he unbuttoned the uppermost button that had been pressing into his jugular for most of the day. He would have done it earlier, but he'd had so many trials and meetings and it was important to look sleek and professional, never sloppy. He wondered for a moment how warm it would be and went for taking off his suit jacket as well, shrinking it and putting it in his pocket. He considered taking off the waistcoat as well, but decided that if he ran into anyone he knew on his way out that he is at least mostly-dressed.

February had just begun and the sun was out more often and it was disturbingly warm for the middle of winter in the middle of London. Well, not so much London itself as the magical parts of London. It was a phenomenon that he'd been getting questioned about and had no clue of how to answer. Was the atmosphere suddenly affected by magic? That seemed wildly improbable. More than likely, spring had just decided to come early. Or maybe it was global warming.

"Oh! Mr. Malfoy! Just the man I was looking for!"

Draco sighed and didn't even look over his shoulder to see who'd spotted him leaving the elevator. He kept walking forward, towards the exit. He never took the Floo in the Ministry – he wanted no record of his address of his flat in Muggle London. And as Senior Undersecretary, he knew that all Ministry regulated Floos were very closely monitored – fortunately, none of the Orders' safe houses' networks were regulated. They were highly illegal and once Draco had become Undersecretary, he had worked out the last of the kinks in the Floo that could have given away Grimmauld or the other houses.

When he'd repaired the Floo had been the first time Draco had seen Hermione since that Christmas Eve. Since the _incident_.

"_I don't see how tampering with the Floo is necessary," Ronald Weasley grumbled. "It works just fine and has never given us any trouble before. Not like the Ministry is knocking down our door…well, until you got here."_

"_Let the man do his job," Amelia Bones said, scolding him. Her lips were pursed and she eyed Ronald disapprovingly. The look reminded Draco very much of McGonagall, which was scary enough. "This is what he does. He collects information and does something with it. Let him put the proper charms on the Floo like he says he will. You should be appreciative – he's preventing us from ever being found."_

_Rolling his eyes, Ron limped out of the room, his cane slapping the floor as he growled to himself. Draco didn't thank Bones or give her a grateful nod. He only gave her a look, which she tipped her head to, and that was enough communication for both of the Slytherins. _

"_Excuse me, Ms. Bones, but do you know what Ron was so disgruntled a…" _

_Hermione's voice trailed off as she stood in the threshold to the sitting room where Draco stood by the fireplace, his wand tapping the brick of it. His hand stilled, though, when he'd heard the voice he knew better than he should have. _

"_Malfoy," Hermione breathed, her eyes opening wide. "You're alright."_

"_Of course I'm alright," Draco said tartly, arching a brow. "Why wouldn't I be?"_

"_Well, McGonagall had said that you were, but the whole situation with the Ministry position didn't make much sense and I was so worried and I couldn't send you an owl or Floo you because the Ministry is so heavily watched and –"_

"_Granger, you're rambling. Please shut up. I'm trying to focus."_

_Hermione looked affronted. "Pardon?" she said. _

"_I said… 'shut up'. Surely this is simple enough for even the genius Gryffindor Princess to understand."_

_Hermione's jaw dropped at his tenacity. _

"_I'll leave you both," Bones said, rising from her chair and wandering off into Grimmauld. _

"_You have got a lot of nerve," Hermione said, marching up to Draco with a fierce expression. "I was worried and this is how you treat me? To think – I'd actually been making excuses for you to not only everyone else, but myself. About where've you been and why you broke your promise last month."_

"_I don't make promises," Draco said, sneering. "And if I do, it's usually to get someone off my back."_

"'_I'll be back by tomorrow morning', you said," Hermione said, mimicking his deep voice with little accuracy. "'Not to worry', you said! I was hardly twisting your arm when you said those things!"_

"_You'd just come back from the dead," Draco said flippantly. "I was being nice. A mistake I won't make again."_

_"You _kissed _me," Hermione said fervently. "Another thing that you did completely on your own!"_

"_You didn't seem to mind."_

_Hermione wanted to stamp her foot or shove him. She'd done it before, but now she would do neither. She was going to stand her ground. "I didn't. Which was why I was meaning to talk to you before you abandoned us at Mould-on-the-Wold."_

"_I didn't abandon anyone," Draco said, feeling some anger rise up in his chest. "I did what was best for everyone – including your students."_

"_Are you being deliberately obtuse or does it come naturally?" Hermione demanded. "Why did you kiss me?"_

"_Because I wanted to!" Draco snapped. "For thirty stupid seconds, I was deluded enough to think it was a good idea. But the second it was over, I realized how idiotic it was. And this entire conversation just makes me regret it more because if I hadn't panicked and made such a stupid decision, you wouldn't be giving me a headache right now."_

_"Regret?" Hermione hissed. "You regret it?"_

"_Of course I do!" Draco shouted. "The minute it was over, I regretted it! I don't feel anything towards you except annoyance. I don't know how I mistook that for attraction, but now I'm stuck with this. Let it go, Granger. It didn't mean anything and no matter how many warped fantasies you come up with me being the tragic anti-hero with a secret golden heart, it _never will_." _

That had been the last time they spoke. He'd watched her crumble before she walked away. She didn't run or slap him or anything dramatic like that. She'd simply put the cup of tea she had been planning to drink on the coffee table and walked out.

The memory of it was enough to make Draco want to crumble himself. And the thought of it just then make his patience for whoever was calling his name disappear. If whoever called his name approached him despite his obvious disinterest, Draco wasn't sure he could be held accountable for his actions. He was furious, mostly with himself, but he tended to project that onto others. He sped up his pace, ignoring the fading calls of the person behind him.

He escaped out onto the streets of Muggle London where he ducked into an alleyway to enlarge the scarf in his pocket and wrap it around his neck. Sticking his hands in his pockets and walking down the street, he uttered light warming charms along the way instead of kicking himself for the stupidity of taking his jacket off before he knew the weather. The wind was cool as peppermint and he wondered if it would snow that evening. He hoped not. He couldn't wait for March to hurry its arse up.

When he pushed open the door to his flat, he did not know why he had expected it to be relaxing to return home. He completely forgot about his little…houseguest.

"You are late!" Margot Beauregard exclaimed the second he stepped through the door. "The meeting 'as already started, I am sure!" She was angry, which wasn't saying much. As most almost-fifteen year old girls, she was always angry. Not to mention the fact she was French. The cultural attributes added onto the normal hormonal raging of the age-group was a combination for disaster.

And what would you know, Draco had to live with such a small time-bomb. It was a little less than a year before that Snow had started asking about the exact location that Draco was keeping Margot while they continued to hold her capture over her mother's head. There would be proof-of-life letters and pictures every month, but always the looming threat of death if her mother were to stray from Snow's cause in the International Confederation of Wizards. But, of course, when Snow got curious, Draco could not reveal that he was keeping Margot at Mould-on-the-Wold, the secret Muggle-born wizarding school, so he got a flat in the city and a roommate. Like a Muggle child, though, she took the Floo back and forth from Mould-on-the-Wold, also known as Moony's Academy.

But evenings, when Snow was most likely to make a visit, Margot was there at the flat.

And, of course, she was there when Draco was back from work.

Draco didn't answer the girl's yelling. Instead he just enlarged his jacket and put it on the coat-hook, pushed back the hair from his face, and walked into the kitchen.

"We are missing the meeting!" the girl shouted.

"I am not missing the meeting," he said, rolling his eyes as he went into his refrigerator for a butterbeer. "It won't start for another thirty minutes. Right now all they're doing is drinking coffee and gossiping."

"That is the best part!" Margot insisted. "The gossip!"

_She is so French sometimes that I wonder if I should just call her "bagette"! _

Draco smiled to himself, remembering Hermione saying that about Margot once at a meeting. She'd been talking to Harry Bleeding Potter and Draco had been eavesdropping – something he did often – and had to force himself to not bust out laughing just as Potter did.

"Just because you messed up with the other Order people, does not mean I should be deprived of spending time with my friends!" Margot declared, with such elegant and clear diction that Draco could help but admit would make her a good politician. She probably learned from her own mother.

"You spent all day with them," Draco pointed out, too bone-tired to really lay it into her.

"Still! I do not eat dinner with them or fly with them or –"

"Fine!" Draco consented, putting his half-drunk bottle back in the refrigerator. "I give up. Get in the Floo and cover your ears."

Whenever they Floo'd to Grimmauld, Margot closed her ears. Draco was a Secret Keeper and for Margot's safety, should anything happen, they did not want her life to be in danger because she knew the exact location and password to get into Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

With both of them standing in the Floo it was a little cramped, but she was small enough. He spoke clearly their destination and the green flames sparked around them. Only a moment later, they were standing in the sitting room of Grimmauld.

"Margot is here!" Adam, who was in the middle of a Wizarding Chess lesson with Ronald Weasley, called out. A split second later, Chelsea was in the room, carrying two cups of tea.

Every time Draco saw Chelsea, he felt like she grew another inch. She had been a small thing at eleven, and the same at the beginning of twelve, but a year later she was on the cusp of thirteen and as tall as Margot. The same was for Adam. He and Chelsea were about the same height now and while he had annoying long hair, she had that same short, pixie-like hair cut – though it looked more feminine now than it had at the start. Maybe because she was growing into her body and looked more like a girl over all.

"About time you arrived," Ron Weasley said, pushing himself out of the chair with the help of his cane. His leg still refused to bend for the most part and they suspected it never would. It definitely made a noticeable impression on his mood, which had already leaned towards the Annoying Prat end of the spectrum.

"Weasley," Draco acknowledged, taking off his scarf and draping it over the back of the couch. He walked out of the room, leaving Margot to her girl time. Before he knew it, though, Adam was on his tail.

"How are you, Mr. Malfoy?" Adam asked, excitedly. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"I've been well, Mr. Nolan," Draco said dryly, not bothering to ask after the boy in turn.

"Last time you came around was… before my birthday, I think," Adam said, making a point to note that his birthday had passed. The boy was officially a teenager, thirteen. "Thanks for my flying gloves and goggles! It makes flying in the rain a sigh easier!"

"I didn't send you anything," Draco said with no inflection.

"Sure," Adam said, rolling his eyes. "And the package wrapped in green that appeared magically on the dining table with my name on it on my birthday was from some other person who wouldn't want credit for buying me the most expensive brand of Quidditch gear on the market."

"Heavy-handed with the sarcasm, I see," Draco said, arching an eyebrow. He was making his way as slowly as possible towards the dining room. "Someone's been spending too much time with –"

"Me, I'm guessing you were about to say?"

Popping out from behind a corner – the entrance to the kitchen on a second glass – with a bourbon biscuit in his hand was none other than Harry Potter.

"Actually," Draco said stiffly, "I was going to say your ginger counterpart."

"Ah," Harry said, grinning and leaning in the doorway. He took a bite of the biscuit. "That makes more sense. Because I was going to say, it's been too long for you to make a judgment on how sarcastic I am. Though, nowadays, that's all Ron seems to be." He shrugged in a what-are-you-going-to-do manner. "Everyone is just through there." He gestured to the dining area. "Though, I was hoping to catch a word with you before you become a social pariah." He nodded his head towards the kitchen.

"If you'll excuse me, Mr. Nolan," Draco said to Adam, hiding a sigh. He walked through the threshold to the kitchen, closing the door behind him.

He wondered just what in the world did Golden Boy Potter want from him now.

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	3. In Which the Bug is Caught

A/N. As always, I don't own anything. Harry Potter is JKR's. Adam, Chelsea, Yvette and Margot are all mine though, I take full credit for their existences.

In this chapter, though, we will see an original character that previously made an appearance in The Last Marauder. Some of you MIGHT remember her, most of you probably won't. Regardless, in this chapter you will meet Coraline Thatcher, shamelessly plugging TLM.

For Halloween, Remus's body was a dragon egg, and his head was a little dragon popping out of it! Cutest friggin costume ever, if I do say so myself (I made it). We were all dragons, actually, it was a really adorable group costume!

…~oOo~…

Chapter Two: In Which the Bug is Caught

"What do you want, Potter?" Draco asked. "Let's get this over with quickly."

Harry Potter sighed, scratching the scruff on his jaw, taking his time. This was already going the opposite of "quickly". Draco had to force himself not to roll his eyes or make a snappy comment. Draco wondered absently if Potter was growing out his whiskers to look more adult ever since he revival because he hadn't aged whilst dead. It worked, truly. He looked older, but perhaps that was just the fact he'd been weather-beaten by the winds that life whipped at him.

"See, Hermione and I have been talking a lot lately –"

Draco tried not to cringe at the sound of her name.

" – and she reminded me recently that… well, Snape was your godfather, wasn't he?"

Draco nodded slowly. Where was this going?

"Well, since I've been back from the dead and everything, I've been trying to find more out about my parents…" Harry said, his words drawing out longer than necessary.

"What do the two have anything to do with one another?" Draco asked, arching an eyebrow.

"My point is that you spent time with Snape," Harry said. "Did he ever say anything about my mom?"

For a length, Draco considered how he would answer. Draco's father, during Snape's life, made many a quips toward the potion's master about Potter's parents, particularly his mother. Lily Potter had always been this entity in the back of Draco's mind, mostly because her love was supposedly the shield between the curse that was supposed to kill Harry when he was born and the Dark Lord. Draco was unsure whether he believed such a fairytale, it sounded too fluffy and perfect to be true. But it was still curious and Draco's curiosity only intensified when he watched his godfather die and heard his last word…

"_I'll… be… with my own beacon… now," _he'd uttered with the last bit of energy in his body. _"Lily…" _

Draco didn't want to think about it. He had his own drama going on without the weight of his godfather's. But it continued to nag his subconscious.

"Why would he have?" Draco asked, deliberately avoiding the fact that his last words were Harry's mother's name.

"Maybe you don't know, but Snape…and my mother were close as…children…?" Harry prompted, waiting for some kind of reaction from Draco. Draco did not deliver.

"_And_?" Draco said with emphasis, getting quite bored.

Harry huffed. "Maybe I should just show you the memories. After all, he was your godfather… Everything he did was to protect you just as much as me." He seemed to be mostly talking to himself.

"You're losing my interest quickly, Potter. What memories?" Draco demanded.

Before Draco got his answer, the door behind them creaked open and a voice he knew too well said, "Oh! Sorry, didn't realize anyone was…" The sentence trailed off and evaporated in the now-awkward atmosphere. "Hello, Malfoy," said the far less enthusiastic voice.

"Granger," Draco said with a polite nod.

"I didn't know you'd actually come when we said it was mandatory," Hermione said flatly, her lips pressed. "We thought we were going to have to hunt you down at the Ministry."

"Well, I'm here, aren't I?" Draco said tensely.

"You are," Hermione said back, her tone hard. "Harry, we're all prepared for the meeting. We're ready when you are." And she walked out.

Taking a deep breath, Draco turned back to Harry and said, "Are we done here?"

Draco was a little disconcerted by how Harry stared at him for a while. It was…strange. It was like he was trying to work out a puzzle. "I'm sorry," Harry said eventually.

Scoffing, Draco said, "What does Boy Wonder have to be sorry for?"

"When I was…dead… I told you to push her away," Harry said slowly, his brow furrowed. "I had no clue it would break your heart or make Hermione the Ice Queen."

"_Shut up_," Draco snapped, clenching his teeth. Everything came flooding out quickly than he had intended. "You don't know anything. As if I would follow orders from _you_. The decisions I make are my own, you have no weight in them. Understand? Never apologize for anything to me, _ever again_, especially all of this is your fault to begin with. You've lost all rights to forgiveness."

Wide-eyed behind his glasses, Harry pushed them higher onto his nose and said, "Erm…?"

"Don't act like you don't know," Draco sneered. "Innocent Potter. Do No Wrong Potter. Well, guess what? This entire war is because the 'savior' did naught in the Saving Department. You had one job – _stay alive_. If you'd just fucking performed a miracle like you were supposed to, this would all be over."

Frowning deeply, looking angrier as Draco went on, "You can't know that –"

"I can, and I do," Draco hissed. "I'll never forgive you. Not for anything. It's your fault this war is on."

"For someone who thinks so little of me, you do expect big things from me."

"If you can survive the Killing Curse twice, I have a reason to."

Harry shook his head, his lips pressed together, but he did not explode. He was a changed man since returning from the dead. Draco remembered something Harry said while he was still possessing Hermione from the afterlife, something about the piece of Voldemort inside him dying making him feel lighter and less angry. It couldn't be maturity, because Merlin knew he had none of that.

None of that mattered, though. Potter's temperament meant little to Draco.

"I've had enough of this conversation," Harry said, his mouth screwing into a frown. "Just stay after the meeting so I can show you those memories, will you?"

"If it means you'll get off my back and never mention Granger to me again, then fine."

…

"Has this space gotten smaller?" Adam griped, wiggling far too much.

Chelsea just rolled her eyes in her head. She wanted to say, _No, we've just gotten bigger. _But she didn't say things like that. She wasn't sarcastic. That was Adam's job. She just sucked in her belly and pressed herself up closer to the wall of the enclosed space. It was a little nook right on the opposite side of the dining room wall. It happened to have a mouse hole in it and a crack in the drywall, allowing sound through easily.

Now, of course the Order sound-proofed their meetings with charms and enchantments, but this nook was special. The cracks allowed sound through and when she touched them, they felt warm under her fingertips, humming with magic. She had a suspicion it was thanks to the person whoever carved _Padfoot _into the wall. She wasn't sure what or who a "padfoot" was, but it made it possible to eavesdrop on the grown-ups.

"I'm officially calling this meeting to order," Harry Potter said over the low chatter of the room. It seemed to be the magic words since everyone silenced immediately, turning all of their attention to him.

"What makes him so special?" Adam groused. Chelsea wanted to smile. Because Mr. Malfoy disliked Mr. Potter, Adam disliked him just on principle. And he resented the fact that Mr. Potter had become his new flying instructor, thus eliminating all the time Adam spent with his original mentor.

"He did come back from the dead," Chelsea whispered, but then motioned for him to me quiet so they could listen to what was going on in the dining room.

"… he's definitely alive." That was Malfoy's smoothly snide voice.

"No, he can't be," Mr. Ron griped. "He wasn't anywhere to be seen during the last half of the final battle."

"Of course," Malfoy said sarcastically. "Because in the past that logic worked so well. Weasley, he hid in your family's pocket for more than a decade. He was undetected for a dozen years and he could do it again – only this time, we know what to look for."

"'We' being the Order, or 'we' being your Death Eaters?"

"Shut up, Ron, will you, for a few minutes?" Potter said in a way that wasn't entirely harsh but definitely had underlying tension. "Malfoy, how do you know Pettigrew is alive?"

"The Dark Lord is looking for him just as we are. The Dark Mark is a kind of…energy source, I suppose you could call it? Because we're all linked to the Dark Lord, he can sort of feel us. And since his return, he's been feeling traces of Pettigrew. It's been made my job to find the stupid rat." He did not sound pleased about this. "Undersecretary to the bloody Minister and I've been given the duty to set mouse traps."

"Why you, though?" Miss Ginny asked. Chelsea liked Miss Ginny – she was funny, sweet, but also an amazing duelist. She did demonstrations for them with her brothers or Professor Granger from time to time. She moved like water, but she struck like lightning.

"Indeed," McGonagall added. "You said yourself, you have duties as Undersecretary. Why such a menial task as tracking down a deserter?"

"I spent some time with Pettigrew during my initiation days," Draco said vaguely. "Unfortunately, I know him well. As I imagine, though, you will all want his hide first, so I thought I'd give one of you the opportunity to go poking around sewers for a fat rat with a missing toe."

"What would be the advantage to having Pettigrew, though?" Percy Weasley asked cynically.

"You Know Who not having him," Potter said glumly. "That would be the advantage. And that's all we have right now, so I say why not? Who wants to track Pettigrew?"

The woman who answered was someone that Chelsea only ever saw fleetingly. She showed up at some meetings and was missing at others. From what Chelsea knew of the Order of the Phoenix, it was quite wide-reaching, but not big enough to dream of overthrowing the Ministry.

Chelsea leaned her face close to the crack to be able to see some of the scene in the dining room.

"I'll look for him," the woman said, her cornsilk blonde hair cut at a sharp angle.

"Miss Thatcher," McGonagall said with a smile. "Thank you for volunteering."

"I was an Auror, once upon a time," Miss Thatcher said. "What use am I here if I don't do my thing?" Chelsea wasn't sure why, but there was a definite sadness to Miss Thatcher's eyes. She was a very pretty woman, kind of on the small side, with an angelic face marred only by crow's feet. She must have been in her late thirties, if not early forties, but still shamelessly gorgeous.

"Animagi are hard to track," Miss Thatcher added. "But I'm up for the task."

"Animagi," Professor Granger abruptly said aloud. Everyone looked to her immediately. Her eyes were wide and she seemed to be in the middle of an epiphany. "The Minister is cracking down on Animagi registration."

"Yes," Malfoy said with a nod. "He wants to be aware of anyone's strengths. To become an Animagus…it takes a powerful wizard. Snow wants to make sure he knows who those powerful wizards are."

"But…she hasn't registered," Professor Granger said absently. "Minerva, you were saying only a few days ago that you wanted to finally make a move on the board. That this stasis has gone on long enough. That we need to have our morale restored."

"Yes," McGonagall agreed, tipping her spectacles higher on her nose. "I do believe showing the wizarding world that not all hope is lost would be beneficial at this juncture."

"I have an idea," Granger said slowly. "It's quite possibly the worst idea I've had in a long time, but it just might work. And while I hate mimicking anything You Know Who did, it's practically poetic. If I can fine-tune the details, it could make Snow green in the mask with envy."

"She's starting to creep me out," Mr. Fred said stiffly.

"You can say that again," Mr. George added.

"Mimicking old Voldie? Is she barmy?"

"It's not what you think," Hermione said. "I think I can get Kingsley back."

There was a length of silence.

"Kingsley's in Azkaban," Mr. Percy said.

"Yes," Hermione said, a glitter in her eyes. "Nothing like a prison break to raise morale."

Chelsea and Adam exchanged very similar looks. Their mousy, bookworm of a professor was proving to be a lot more interesting than they had every anticipated.

…~oOo~…

On nights where Chelsea couldn't sleep, or was too afraid to, she found herself in the cellar. No one ever went there anymore except her. Mr. Malfoy had done his best to lock it up to make sure she or anyone else could never get back it, but that hadn't kept her out for long. It was scary, but…the room responded to her. More and more, she believed it to be sentient. A living, breathing entity.

Its library seemed to grow on its own. One day she'll be down there and see a gap in a shelf and the next it would be filled with exactly the sort of text she'd been looking for. Things were constantly being moved, sometimes right before her eyes. More than once a jar just picked itself up into thin air and put itself somewhere else. She wasn't sure why, maybe the jar just wasn't comfortable there anymore.

This night Chelsea sat at the lab table reading a book about poisons, antidotes, anti-venoms, and bezoars. It was fascinating. She was learning about Acromantula venom, about its rarity and properties, when she heard a thump from behind her. She jumped and looked over, just to find a glass orb rolling itself off a shelf. Chelsea braced herself for the crash and shatter, but it just hit the ground with another heavy thud and continued to roll.

Chelsea watched it roll across the cold floor, past her, eventually stopping when it hit into the trunk, thankfully not cracking or breaking still. Chelsea looked to see if the ball made any more moves before going over to pick it up.

But she stopped to stare at the locked trunk. She'd sworn not to open it again after she had the first time when she'd only been eleven, but she wondered sometimes. This wasn't the first time an object from the room rolled its way over or a favorite book of hers found itself on top of the lid. It was suspicious, weird, but intriguing.

She still had the key…

No. No, no, no. The lack of sleep was getting to her, making her foggy. She had to stay sharp when she was in the room or else she would easily give into its many mysteries. She'd started by swearing never to go in the cellar again, but that had changed. When she started visiting, she'd made a promise to herself never to brew there because it was unsupervised. That too changed when she became overwhelmingly curious about Draught of Living Death. And she had sworn not to open that trunk again, but she was cracking under the pressure.

Tea. She needed tea. Shaking her head, she put her book of poisons down and walked back towards the stairs. Before she closed the door behind her, she cast back one more look at that old trunk.

She wondered if the curiosity could literally kill her.

The door was almost closed when it got hard for Chelsea to breathe. Her vision dimmed. She braced herself against the wall, but stumbled and kicked the door back open. Suddenly it felt like she had a pillow over her head, but there was no pillow there. She slowly slid down to sit on one of the steps, feeling a thrumming between her ears.

Panicking, Chelsea gripped her wand tight and forced herself to take normal breaths. But when she opened her eyes, she gasped and her breaths came in short, sharp spurts. Right there in front of her, in the room, she saw a man at the lab. The cauldron was bubbling and sparking and the man had goggles on. He was tall and blonde and beautiful and she did not recognize him. He wore trousers, a tailored shirt, and a waistcoat. He was barefoot and the chain of a pocket watch was dangling from a button on his waistcoat to his pocket.

The man didn't even seem to see Chelsea there. He just went about his brewing, eventually pulling out his pocket watch to check the time

But Chelsea knew that pocket watch. She recognized it from the one glimpse she had inside that trunk more than a year before.

As it became easier to breathe, Chelsea blinked again and just like that, the man was gone. The room was empty once more and the cauldron was empty. She ran to it in her panic, touched it tentatively only to find it cold and a little dusty from disuse since her own last experiment. Spinning around again and again, Chelsea was sure no one was there.

Sinking to her knees, Chelsea took a moment to calm herself, counting to ten in her head. What had happened? Did she imagine it? Was that man a ghost? Was it a vision?

Oh God. Not another vision. She couldn't take those, not again. Those dreams had put her off prophetic visions forever.

Dragging her hands down her face, she decided that she needed to get to the bottom of whatever was happening to her. And if the answer was in that trunk, well, she was going to break another promise to herself sooner than she thought.

…~oOo~…

"Miss Skeeter."

Giving a delicate little jump, Rita Skeeter turned around. An absolutely wicked grin curved her cherry red lips as she found the source of that sinful voice to be quite pleasing. When she'd gone to the Ministry to try to coerce an Unmentionable into an interview, she never expected to hit the journalist jackpot and be summoned by the sinfully handsome and eligible Undersecretary to the Minister himself. Draco Malfoy may have had to do more with lawmaking and government than even Snow.

Normally he hid in his offices. But today he was there in the Ministry halls, looking even more delectable than usual, and calling her name. He even hastened to catch up to her, his hands in his pockets.

"Why, hello, Mr. Malfoy," Rita purred, popping her hip and resting a hand on it. "It's been quite a while since we last chatted, hmm?"

"It has been," Draco Malfoy replied, his eyes as cool and calculating as they were in every picture the Prophet ever snapped of him. "I heard you'd be around the Ministry today and thought I could entice you to have tea with me. I have a story I'd like to be run in the Prophet most urgently and you would definitely be the witch for the job, I think."

"Sir, when it comes to fast, you'd be hard-pressed to find a woman faster."

"Excellent. If you'll follow me." He offered her his arm and she accepted instantly.

Rita smirked and trailed alongside Draco, looking like the cat that got the canary. Her day out to the Ministry proved to be even more profitable than she'd ever expected. It was the perfect opportunity to make nice with the Undersecretary, maybe even to seduce him. Men absolutely sang after a good shag. Nothing like pillow talk to get a politician to talk. It was Rita's specialty. And what she couldn't get from sleeping with a man, she could get from eavesdropping.

And with Draco Malfoy it was sure to be fun. He was certainly a pretty bauble to add to her collection and rumor was he had peculiar tastes in bed. She was too curious not to try.

Once they arrived at his office, he opened the door for her like a true gentleman and invited her to sit in one of the luxurious red chairs in his office.

"If you'll excuse me for just a moment, I'll ask my secretary to fetch us our tea," he said, walking out and closing the door behind him.

Brilliant! Rita jumped up from the seat and lunged for his desk to see what current affairs were passing through the Undersecretary's attention these days.

Just when she was about to read the details on a piece of vampire legislation, she felt a shift in the world around her. It was like she was spinning and falling and…

She was abruptly in her beetle form. There was only a few people who knew her secret, and even fewer who knew and would dare to use the spell to force her transformation.

Looking up from her spot on Draco Malfoy's desk, she saw that ghastly hair and cheeky grin before a jar was closed over top of her.

One of these days, Rita thought to herself, she would get her revenge on that insolent Hermione Granger.

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	4. In Which He Follows Footsteps

A/N. Here are the teams that you guys talked about in the Blacklisted:

Team Chadam (Chelsea/Adam) – most of you seem to be rooting for them.

Team Adette (Adam/Yvette) – these shippers are catching up with Chadam.

Chorge (Chelsea and George) – I think there's like 2 of you! Haha!

And one person who suggested Mag/Chelsea! Which I thought was sweet and kinda cool! Melsea? Chag?

I GOT A BEAUTIFUL PIECE OF FANART VIA EMAIL YESTERDAY! The artist's name is Kylie and she drew "adult Mag", as seen in one of Chelsea's dreams in Blacklisted (chapter seventeen). I've encouraged Kylie to make a deviantart so she can post it and you all can see – but in case she doesn't, trust me when I say, it's exactly how I imagined Mag! Multi-colored hair, this wicked grin on her face, beautiful, striking blue eyes, and lots of piercings! And it had the quote from the dream sequence, "Mag was one of the most exotic witches Chelsea had ever met – one of the more modern ones."

…~oOo~…

Chapter Three: In Which He Follows Footsteps

"Warden Wilde, it's a pleasure to see you again."

"You too, my boy," the older man said, giving Draco a hearty handshake. "It's been too long. How is your father?"

"Well," Draco answered dryly.

"Tell him I say hello. If it weren't for his influence, and yours, old Thackeray wouldn't have been forced to retire and I wouldn't be sitting here as warden," Jeremiah Wilde said, sitting back down in his seat. He was a large man with a large moustache and a large mouth. Draco could barely stand him, but it needed to be done.

"So what brings you around Azkaban?" Wilde asked. "Can't imagine you'd be here just for the hell of it. Gloomy place, ain't it?"

"I'm afraid I'm here to ask for a favor," Draco said, taking off his gloves and sitting in the seat across from Warden Wilde's desk. "There's a transfer from Nurmengard that is supposed to be coming in next week, a transfer that Snow himself wanted, but there is a bit of dilemma concerning how the transfer will be made. You see, the warden of Nurmengard never sets foot on the prison property because it's become something of a self-sustaining force. There hasn't been need to check in for years and you understand the warden's trepidation. There's no knowing what he'd discover upon arrival. The inmates could very well be running the asylum. But since there has been no breakouts, the warden doesn't want to risk the balance – or rather, he doesn't want to be the one to tip the balance. He's a bit of a coward, sadly."

"That's no good," Warden Wilde said, shaking his big head, his jowls shaking. "Can't have a weakling running a prison. Inmates need discipline, order, strict rules. He's right – they've probably taken over the place. What do you want me to do?"

"It's quite simple," Draco said. "Pick up the prisoner yourself and personally ensure that he is bright to Azkaban."

Warden Wilde's eyes widened a bit. "Myself?"

"Yes. I can think of no man better for the job." _Lying to the pillock is making me nauseous. If his third chin jiggles one more time, I may lose my lunch. I just want you away from Azkaban for twenty-four hours, is that so hard? _

"Well, then," Warden Wilde said, still looking a bit stunned. "I'll, er, bring a few guards with me, then?"

"Of course. Take a Dementor or two for your own security."

"Nurmengard houses some tough ones, eh?"

"Some of the most dangerous criminals in this hemisphere," Draco confirmed. "But nothing you can't handle. Azkaban has been in your able hands for a while now. And the prisoners here are as Dark as they come. I have the utmost confidence in your abilities." Draco stood, ready to make his escape. It wasn't as if the man had the option to say no. One did not say no to the Minister's Undersecretary.

"Well, thank you, sir," Wilde said, his voice a tad shaky. He too stood and shook Draco's hand once more. "You know, my daughter has been asking after you. Are you truly courting the Greengrass girl?"

"Yes, I'm afraid," Draco said, slipping his gloves back on just for something to do to distract him from the man's off-putting appearance. "Tell Felicity that she is a lovely girl and if I ever again find myself in need of a dinner companion, she will be my first Floo."

"I'll be sure to let her know that," Wilde said with a big grin. "I'll see you out then." He clapped Draco hard on the back and led him to the Apparition Point.

…

"You won't get away with this, not again, you evil little bitch!"

"Oh, please," Hermione said, rolling her eyes at the wretched woman that was Rita Skeeter. "If you want to keep your little abilities secret, you'll have to live with it. If you went to the Aurors saying I kidnapped you and they asked how and you said it had to do with your Animagus ability, they'd surely address that first."

Looking around, Rita could tell they were in a crappy room at the Leaky Cauldron. The ceilings had cracks in them and the floorboards squeaked as Hermione Granger paced in front of her. Rita wondered if it was too much to wish she'd just fall through.

Rita wiggled and found her binds quite accomplished. When she moved, they tightened.

"Now will you listen to me already?" Hermione demanded, a hand on her hip. "I haven't got all day."

"You're blacklisted, darling," Rita sneered. "And now that I know you're in England, it won't matter if I'm an Animagus or not."

"That may be true," Hermione acknowledged calmly. "But I'm here for a business proposition. One that could prove to be mutually beneficial. For you, especially. You get to keep your abilities a secret and the story of a lifetime."

"That Girl Wonder of the Golden Trio is waltzing around England – and the Ministry – and everyone is yet to notice?" Rita said archly.

"Even better," Hermione said, looking Rita in the eyes. "But I won't tell you until you swear an Unbreakable Vow to do the task that I set for you."

"And if I refuse?"

"If you refuse, I Obliviate you," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "Or kill you and be rid of you. I'd be doing the world a favor."

Rita looked Hermione up and down, at her cold eyes and the robes she'd obviously stolen to get inside the Ministry. There had probably been Polyjuice or a glamour involved. But overall, she seemed angry and hard, and it could have been an act for her captor, but even so…

"You have changed, Miss Granger," Rita said. "You've come far from seducing Quidditch stars and prodigies."

Hermione just narrowed her eyes further.

"What is the task?" Rita asked, her lips curled unpleasantly.

"On a day where the warden is absent, we'd like you to enter Azkaban in your beetle for, use the key that I'll attain for you, and release Kingsley Shacklebot."

The journalist's jaw dropped almost to her knees. "Are you _insane_?"

"I might be," Hermione said honestly. "But it's not all that hard. You don't even have to make sure he gets out. And all you have to do is fly out and you'll go completely undetected."

"And Shacklebot's escape?" she asked skeptically.

"Already taken care of and none of your concern."

"You are asking me to break an enemy of the Ministry out of prison," Rita hissed, her teeth clenched. "No story, no interview is worth the risk of getting caught."

Standing right in front of Rita, Hermione bent forward and met her eyes to drive the point. "Not even the return of the savior Harry Potter, complete with an exclusive interview?"

It wasn't easy to stun Rita Skeeter into silence. But there she was. Utterly, completely silent.

…~oOo~…

Draco would never admit that he almost didn't knock on her door. He'd never admit he was, perhaps, nervous to be in a room with her again, alone. He had no control over himself when she was near. He became sloppy and stupid and he couldn't afford that. But he did knock and he did enter when her voice advised him to.

Hermione was sitting at her desk grading papers. When she looked up and saw him, her expression was unreadable, but also overwhelmingly tired. Draco knew what she'd been going through. According to the twins – whom he spoke to on very specific occasions – she was seeing Teddy less and less and Andromeda was planning on moving again, but this time taking the three-year-old with her. She also took on five more Muggle-borns that year, making her class loads even larger. And to top that all of she was no organizing a prison break.

"Wilde will be gone from Azkaban Wednesday of next week," Draco said and slipped a little piece of metal out of his glove. "And here is a duplicate of his key." He walked forward and dropping it onto the desk. "I'll have Shacklebot's cell number before the weekend."

"You've done well," was what she said. She took the key and put it in a locked drawer. Finally, she looked up at Draco directly. "Did everything go smoothly?"

"It was a well thought-out plan," he said stiffly. "You really are clever."

"Cleverness," Hermione scoffed, leaning forward on her elbows. She forced her fingers back through her hair, dislodging her bun and throwing the pins she caught in her fingers to the ground. "Not clever enough."

"Skeeter didn't agree?" Draco said, brow furrowed.

"No, she did," Hermione said. "She made the Vow."

"What's wrong, then?"

"So many things," she groaned. "None of which you care about. I'm just whining. You can go now."

"Why won't you tell me? You used to."

"That was before…" She bit off the end of her sentence. "Never mind."

"One thing," Draco said. "One thing that is weighing on you."

Hermione seemed to consider this. She did that thing where she bit her lip and made Draco want to sooth it with his own mouth.

"I don't trust Rita Skeeter," she said finally. "I never have."

"For good reason," Draco said. "But this was your plan. She's made the Vow. She talks, she dies. She betrays us, she dies. She's in a corner."

"I know that, logically," Hermione said, "but I can't help but remember that summer when even Mrs. Weasley believed all of her lies. She said terrible things about me."

"I remember," Draco said. "According to her, you were quite the busy little slag."

Hermione glared.

"I never believed it, personally," Draco said. "You were too busy with your nose buried deep in your books to have time to seduce not two, but three boys at once."

"You're a liar," she said, her nose crinkling. "You believed it like the rest of them."

"I wanted to, trust me. But I knew it wasn't. I may have treated you like scum, but I never believed Skeeter's lies to be true."

"Well, you were the only one," she said quietly. Shaking her head, she said, "I'm just being melancholy. Thinking about our school days. It never leaves me in a sunny mood. And I have no clue why I'm telling you any of this." She sat back with a deep breath and pushed herself up out of the chair. "I doubt you're really interested."

"I wouldn't have asked if I weren't," Draco said lowly.

Hermione stopped and looked at Draco for a moment. "What are you trying to do?" she asked. She was annoyed instantly. "Why are you being so nice?"

Draco sighed, his jaw reflexively clenching. "I don't want one stupid mistake to ruin the awkward, off-kilter, but not altogether unpleasant friendship we had."

"_A year_," Hermione snapped. "A whole year and I've seen you a grand total of_ four_ times. That isn't a friendship, not anymore. We are colleagues and fellow members of the cause. The end, Malfoy. So stop pretending."

Just when Draco was about to say something – something about her being the one who was pretending – in walked Harry Potter, who halted when he saw Draco there. "Oh, Malfoy," he said, eyebrows risen. "Sorry, didn't realize you were around. What brings you to Moony's?"

"If that were your business we'd have invited you to this little meeting," Draco said tightly.

"He's just reporting on how his visit with the warden of Azkaban went, which was successful," Hermione said, shooting Draco a look. It reminded him of the looks his mother gave him when he was rude when company was over. It just made him want to sulk.

"Brilliant," Harry said, grinning.

"Did you need anything, Harry?" Hermione said, smiling back.

Oh, so _he_ walks in and she's suddenly all smiles and sunshine? If ever there was a moment where Draco Malfoy could murder the Savior, it was then. But he fisted his hands in his pockets so tightly his nails left marks in his palm.

"Just was wondering if I could coax you away from your grading for a cup of tea with your best friend?"

"Oh, is Luna around?" Hermione teased.

Harry rolled his eyes, but chuckled. "Well, aren't you the funny one?"

"I'd love a cuppa," Hermione said, brushing a stray curl behind her ear. She was still smiling.

"How about you, Malfoy? Care to join us?" Harry asked.

"Malfoy was just leaving, I think," Hermione answered for him. Malfoy scowled, but nodded and only gave them each a tip of his head as a farewell.

But he was only a few steps away from the room when he heard her giggle again. It yanked at his black heart and he couldn't help but back up a few more steps and peek inside.

Harry was leaning against her desk, telling a story with his hands and she was laughing, perching herself right next to him and resting a hand on his shoulder. She was smiling, he was smiling… Draco's gaze was drawn to the contact between her fingers and his skin, though. Draco had only had the privilege of her touch twice. Once when she brushed the snowflakes out of his eyes and again in the attic after she'd miraculously saved Potter's life.

But Harry Potter got to not only have her touch, but her embraces, her attention, and her adoration. It burned a hole through Draco's chest. He wondered if it could actually kill him.

And his thoughts immediately went to his godfather. His godfather's memories, the ones Potter showed him. During Snape's last moments with Harry, he gifted the boy with his memories and understanding. When Draco had his last moments, he'd been cursed with all of Snape's earthly burdens.

Now Draco knew, at least, why his last word had been "Lily". Lily Potter. Once Lily Evans and once Snape's one love. Or maybe obsession. And she was stolen from him by bloody James Potter, who then spawned a son possibly even more despicable…

Draco saw it all so clearly. It was history happening right before his eyes, repeating itself. Once upon a time, he thought Weasley would be Hermione's champion, but now he saw the reality of it all. It was Potter, it was always Potter, and it would always be Potter.

Always Potter.

Filled with the sudden ire, Draco decided he had some things to discuss with his godfather's portrait.

…

The only reason Draco had any idea where his father had stashed the portraits from the Headmaster's Office was because he was the bleeding Undersecretary to the man who made it his business to know everything. And when one was the right hand for the man that knew everything, one became privy to some very interesting information.

Including inventory of all of Hogwarts magical items and where they are held in the castle. The inventory was the length of a novel, but Draco had to go through each page and approve each item after the governors did. It was a process they went through each school year. It went along with regulating where in the castle were children permitted and where they were not – not that that stopped some of the little prats.

Draco marched through the corridors of Hogwarts, his blood boiling more and more with every step, all fueled by that damned hand resting on Harry Fucking Potter's shoulder. It was so small, so insignificant, but it was enough to make Draco's blood sing. And the way they were smiling at one another, that was almost enough to make Draco go postal.

Why did it hurt so much? Why now and why was it hitting him so hard? Why did he want to go on a murder spree at the same time he wanted to just hold her so hard?

Maybe it was misguided, but he had someone to blame. He blew into the storage room hidden behind a portrait of King Arthur's jester and went straight up to the one hanging on the wall beside Dumbledore. Every portrait sleeping was wide awake to watch the scene.

"_You_," Draco sneered, smacking his hands down on the wall on either side of Severus Snape's portrait. "You did this to me."

With an equally disgusted sneer, Snape intoned, "I'm sure I haven't a clue what you're talking about."

"I picked up the torch – that was my choice – but I never knew it meant choosing a fucking beacon like you told me and having to sit around to watch a Potter _take it from me_!"

"Good God," Snape said, arching a dark, sharp eyebrow and gazing down his nose at his godson. "You've fallen in love. The Weasley girl?"

"Don't be daft," Draco said, pushing himself away from the canvas to look his old potions professor more equally in the eye. "Not all of us have an obsession with obnoxious redheads."

Snape's lips pressed into a thin line. "Miss Granger, then."

"Don't speak her name," Draco said lowly. "You don't get to speak her name."

"Does she know?"

Draco thought about this. "No. She thinks I'm cruel and worthless."

"Good."

"_Good_? GOOD? I WANT TO FUCKING RIP POTTER'S THROAT OUT WITH MY BARE HANDS AND YOU'RE SAYING THAT EVERYTHING'S JUST FINE?"

Snape watched his protégée pace in front of him, looking at a complete loss. His blonde hair was in disarray, he'd unbuttoned half of his shirt, and his knuckles were white.

"Move on, boy," Snape snapped. "She won't have you. She's too smart for you and too smart for your charm and mind games. If she wants Potter, she will have him, that is how it goes. Now, stop being such a pathetic excuse for a man and go _do your job_."

Draco was breathing heavily from his pacing, from his anger, from his wanting to just sob and scream. He said, "You're wrong. You have to be. I can fix that. I won't live as you did, I won't do it. I'll follow your footsteps anywhere else, but not away from her."

"You're obsessed, just as I was," Snape snarled. "Wake up. There are bigger things to worry about."

"Things bigger than my soul?"

"Yes. It was my mindset and now it is yours. The cause is always first."

Draco was shaking his head. "You're lying. Lily was always first for you."

"And that's exactly why she died," Snape growled. "I got distracted, sloppy. If you want to keep Miss Granger alive, you will have to dismiss any notion of ever being with her." He paused. "Rumor has it that you are courting the younger Miss Greengrass. And while I rarely put any stock in rumors, Albus said he heard it from your father himself. Do yourself a favor, Draco, and marry Miss Greengrass."

"Why?" Draco asked, finally starting to crash.

"Because you'll never be in danger of loving her," Snape said, "and she'll be a suitable barrier between you and your deepest desires."

"Maybe you're right," Draco said, mostly to himself. "We had our…one moment. And it ended."

Snape nodded sagely. "Move on," he said once more.

As he left, Draco couldn't help but think, _I don't think I can. _

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	5. In Which Coffee is Discussed, Again

A/N. HERE'S A LITTLE CHALLENGE FOR ALL OF YOU. With what you know from Chelsea, Adam, Yvette, and Mag's personalities what House do YOU think they'd be in if they went to Hogwarts?

I know what House I would put them in, but that won't be revealed until much later.

Unfortunately I don't like half of this chapter. I had bad writer's block and sort of pushed myself to write it. That's also why it's shorter. I hope it's acceptable.

…~oOo~…

Chapter Four: In Which Coffee is Discussed, Again

"So what do you think all the grown-ups are up to?" Margot asked.

Chelsea blinked, feeling suddenly very nervous. Margot had no clue that Chelsea eavesdropped on the Order meetings and knew more than she should. So she gave her trademark answer – she shrugged.

Margot arched a speculative eyebrow at Chelsea. They walked together in the garden doing the flora scavenger hunt that Longbottom gave them for homework. Well, Chelsea was doing the work while Margot just kind of followed along. Chelsea didn't mind, she liked Margot's company while Adam was off flying with Mr. Potter.

"Come on, Chelsea, you have to know something," Margot said, prodding Chelsea with her elbow. "You disappear somewhere during the meetings."

"Adam and I just…do homework in the library," Chelsea lied smoothly.

"You 'ave gotten better at lying, I'll give you that," Margot said with a smirk. "But I checked the library. You were not there, nor was Adam. Unless you two got off to, as you English say, _snog_ somewhere…?"

Crinkling her nose and shaking her head in obvious disgust, Chelsea gave Margot the answer she'd expected.

"Then you were spying, yes?" Margot pressed.

Biting her lip and deliberating whether or not to confide in Margot, Chelsea ran her thumb over an orange petal of an exotic flower twining itself around the birdbath in the garden. With springtime came the blooming of so many new flowers, herbs, fruits even. Their strawberry plant that their class planted together were ripening beautifully and the blueberries the older kids, Margot and a few others, were flourishing as well.

"I shouldn't tell you," Chelsea said with a deep breath.

"I can keep a secret," Margot promised.

"But don't you get visits from… Snow?"

Margot thought about this. "Maybe you're right. Snow could be picking around my mind and I wouldn't know…" She hooked an arm around Chelsea's neck playfully and said, "You're the smart one, aren't you?"

"I just…think a lot," Chelsea said, holding very still as Margot tossed an arm around her.

Margot laughed and agreed, "Yes, you do. Too much, perhaps."

Chelsea wanted to smile, but it died on her lips when she looked up and saw a girl in the garden with them, staring over the bush right at Chelsea. She had never seen the girl before, but something about her was oddly familiar. She looked Chelsea's age, about thirteen, and wore a blue dress with a lace collar and puffy sleeves. Her hair was kept out of her face by blue ribbon and she smiled at Chelsea, giving a wave.

"Chelsea?"

Hearing her name being called, Chelsea's tunnel vision towards the girl dissipated and the girl faded from existence.

"Chelsea, are you alright?"

Swallowing, Chelsea looked back at Margot and said, "Did you see her?"

"Who?" Margot asked, looking around. "I saw no one, Chelsea. You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I think I may have," Chelsea said, her palms feeling clammy.

"Do you want to go talk to Granger?"

"No," Chelsea said, shaking her head. _She has enough on her plate. _

…~oOo~…

It was all timed out perfectly. Hermione had gone over and adjusted the plan thirty-three times exactly. And when she presented it in its completion to the Order, they all agreed it would work. But still she doubted herself. Not that she'd admit it, especially to Draco, but he saw it in her eyes. Even though Rita had the key to get into the heavy lockdown section of Azkaban, had been quizzed on the map and layout of the prison, and had two Portkeys – one to stick through the bars for Shacklebot and one for her – Hermione was still a nervous woman.

The Kingley's Portkey would bring him to the sitting room of Grimmauld Place where Hermione waited anxiously and Draco watched on from the doorway, waiting for his mind to come up with something to day that wasn't spiteful or offensive. He couldn't help but feel like he was still in the primary school way of thinking that if you like a girl, you should just bully her and kick dirt in her face.

"Coffee?" was what he finally came up with. _Genius. Swoon-worthy. Really, you dolt, can't you say anything that isn't insulting or monosyllabic? Or have you just completely become your godfather in every way_? He berated himself thoroughly.

"Harry is getting me some," was her response.

He gritted his teeth. "Anything else then?"

She gave him another one of her specially hacked off looks. "Your absence would help."

"Someone is getting cocky," Draco said sourly, raising his own mug of coffee to his lips. "Too bad I'm as invested in the outcome of this prison break as you."

Pinching the bride of her nose, Hermione looked well and truly annoyed. Until Harry Potter walked in with a mug in one hand and a three year old Teddy holding his other, looking happy as little boys always are with currently black hair, sticking up everywhere. This only made Draco want to shave Potter's head in his sleep.

"Tea for the stressed-out genius," Harry said, putting the mug in Hermione's hands.

"'Mione, I gotta lotta pictures ta show you!" Teddy said, waving a handful of papers

"Oh, I cannot wait to see them," Hermione said, hefting Teddy onto her lap and setting her mug on the table. "What's that there?"

"Bluebell," he answered, which was the name his stuffed dragon, which he pronounced kind of like "Blah-Bell".

"Would you like anything, Malfoy?" Harry asked Draco.

"Coffee would be brilliant," Draco said.

Harry was shocked that he took the offer without any snide remark, but just smiled and went to pour him a cup.

"Drake," Teddy said, running over to him on short legs that didn't carry him nearly far enough for the speed at which they moved.

"_Draco_," Draco corrected him, but with no venom in his tone. "What is this?" he asked when Teddy handed him a big piece of bright yellow paper. On the paper were four blobs. One blob was purple, the other green, one was blue, and the last was black. They were varying heights and shapes.

"'Mione," he said, indicating the purple blob made of big spirals, and then the green he said was, "Harry," then he stabbed the black blob, telling him it was, "Draco, and me." He was the smallest blue blob.

"Why am I the dark blob?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow.

"What do you expect?" Harry said upon entering again and giving Draco a mug. "You're always dressed like you're on the way to a funeral."

Ignoring Harry, Draco sighed and walked over to the coffee table and traded Hermione's tea with his coffee. Hermione looked at him archly until he said stiffly, "You still drink coffee when you're uneasy, don't you?"

"I thought we've been through this," Hermione said staring him down. "My drinking habits are none of your business. And whether I am uneasy or not is absolutely none of your –"

"Just shut up and drink the coffee, will you?"

"If you're trying to do something nice for me, it's sort of negates by telling me to 'shut up', you useless –"

"I wasn't trying to be nice, I was correcting Golden Boy's stupid mistakes, because he supposedly 'knows you so well' –"

"He _does_ know me well, unlike you!"

"Well, excuse me, I only spent the three years where he played dead watching you mope and play innkeeper for the bloody Order, who, by the way, treated you like a ticking time bomb while I treated you like a human, but I guess we're going to completely disregard all that time because _someone_ is having a hissy fit."

"_Hissy fit_? I'll show you a hissy fit, Malfoy, if you're asking for it!"

"Half of everything you do and say is _basically_ a temper tantrum because you haven't got your way."

Hermione opened her mouth for her next retort with a red face until a tiny hand clamped down over her mouth. Teddy looked suitably upset and nervous. "Stop," he said. "P'ease."

"Yes, please do," Harry added, wide-eyed and looking uncomfortable in the corner where he'd backed up into. "This is getting you both nowhere while we should all be focused on more important things, like waiting for Kingsley to drop out of the sky. He's the one that led the Order into the Battle of Hogwarts. He knows battle strategy and how to get things done. We need him and we need the both of you to quit your bickering already."

"Shut up, Potter," Draco said sharply. "Don't play peacemaker here."

"If you're going to continue your childish arguing, I'll take my godson into the next room if you don't mind," Harry said, narrowing his eyes at Draco.

"That's another thing I'm not pleased with," Draco said darkly, turning to Hermione. "Why is it that when Andromeda comes around, she takes Teddy away from Hermione but then Potter comes back and he seems to be playing daddy."

That seemed to strike a sore spot in Hermione. She winced and then slowly stood to bring Teddy back to Harry. "Harry, will you take Teddy into the kitchen?" she said coolly.

"Stop fighting," Teddy said, irritated.

"We will, darling, I just have a few things I need to discuss with Draco," Hermione assured Teddy with a sweet smile. Teddy seemed only slightly appeased and allowed Harry to lead him out. The moment they were out of the room, Hermione marched up to Draco and shoved him hard in the chest. "_You are the most worthless man I've met," _she hissed, only to shoved him again. "Sometimes I fantasize about a world where you were actually evil, _just_ so you wouldn't be my problem anymore! But, alas, no! _I would be so lucky_!"

"And sometimes I fantasize about a world where you were less of an intolerable hag just so I could drink a cup of tea in peace," he growled back. "Or do something semi-nice for someone who looks like they need it without being harassed and berated. That would be lovely, wouldn't it? Ideal, really."

"I don't need you here, Malfoy," Hermione whispered, losing some of her steam. "I don't."

"Well, I need to be here," he answered shortly.

"Why can't I just Floo you when Kingsley gets here?"

_Because I've decided that Snape can bugger off and that I will have you one day. I want you too much. _

Fact of the matter was that Draco Malfoy was not used to not getting his way. When he wanted something, he wanted it fiercely, and usually he got it. But the one thing he wanted more than anything before happened to be the one thing being denied to him. He wasn't sure how he would get Hermione after he royally fucked up that Christmas, but he was a Slytherin. He was cunning, manipulative, ambitious. He didn't expect Hermione to fall only for his charm, she was too clever for that, but he had a few tricks left in him.

The only real problem left was that whenever Draco was around Hermione, his brain tended to just kind of shut off. All of his charms fell to dust and his common sense became putty. Which then caused him to say stupid, angry, bullying things like he was in Hogwarts again because that's all his mind could handle.

It was during that silence that Draco tried to come up with an answer that would make Hermione realize he should stay, Kingsley Shacklebot dropped out of the sky, landing on the carpet with a heavy thud. In his hand he clutched the spoon they had made the Portkey.

Kingsley Shacklebot's once-healthy dark skin was grey and his imposing figure was scrawny and thin. He wore Azkaban stripes which looked five sizes too big for him, but once probably fir him perfectly. He was wheezing, coughing, and fighting to get up off the ground after the disorienting transport of the Portkey.

Hermione and Draco both rushed to his side. Hermione knelt down and braced him as he fought to sit up and Draco hastened to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. He heard Hermione's soothing voice telling Kingsley that he was safe and that everything was fine. He wheezed his thanks in his heavy accent, over and over, as Draco returned with a glass of water and Harry Potter.

"Harry Potter…" Kingsley gasped as Hermione led him to sit down in the loveseat. "I cannot believe…it is really you."

"And I can't quite believe it's you," Harry said, walking over to taking Kingsley's large hand in his and shake it firmly. "Welcome back, sir."

Shacklebot nodded his head heavily, looking on the verge of sleep. "And to you, Mr. Potter." His eyes slid to Draco. "What is he doing here?"

"He's one of us," Hermione said reassuringly. "He's been spying for us for the last four, nearly five, years."

"Snape is…he is truly gone? I heard the rumors, but my capture at the battle, it happened all very quickly…"

"Yes, Snape is dead," Hermione confirmed.

"Draco has taken up his torch," Harry said. "I trust him with my life."

"Then so do I," Shacklebot said, but his eyes were drifting shut.

"Drink this water while I make up a bedroom for you," Hermione said, taking the cup from Draco and putting it in Shacklebot's hands carefully, making sure his hands were steady and that he could hold it. "Harry will get you some toast with butter. We're going to be careful about what we give you to eat – I know you're probably starved but you haven't eaten a solid meal and years and I don't want you getting sick when you're finally home again."

"I am grateful for anything you provide," Shacklebot intoned.

Draco followed Hermione out of the room and they were up the stairs when Hermione whispered, "Can't you leave _now_?"

"We were not done with our conversation," Draco hissed.

Amelia Bones walked out of her room as they walked past and inquired, "Has Kingsley arrived as planned?" 

"Yes, he's downstairs," Hermione said. "Feel free to say hello to him. I know you worked together at the Ministry."

With a tight smile on her thing lips, Ms. Bones headed towards the stairs.

And Hermione went back to glaring at Draco immediately. "Our conversation _was_ over. Kingsley is back, the plan worked. Now we just have to hold up our end of the deal with Skeeter and the Vow is complete." She shot him once last scowl before entering the spare bedroom and going to the closet for sheets.

Draco stood by the door, having a feeling he'd be kicked out soon. "You're always angry with me."

"You're an aggravating person, Malfoy," Hermione answered, putting down the first sheet and then spreading out the duvet. "You make a lot of people angry."

"You tell everyone how trustworthy I am," Draco said, stepping forward to help her make the duvet even on all sides of the bed. "You tell them that I'm a good guy, that I belong in the Order just like the rest of them. And yet you treat me like a villain." He sneered. "You used to be nice to me, you know. You used to make me crepes and coffee in the mornings and make sure I had clean pillow cases. What happened?"

"You know what happened?" Hermione snapped at him, absolutely steaming. She threw down the pillow into its spot at the head of the bed. "You ruined everything, Draco. You let me down for the last time that Christmas."

"It was just a –"

"You said you'd be there," Hermione stressed, her eyes turning sad for a moment rather than hostile. "You promised that you'd be there for Christmas morning. And you weren't."

"That was out of my hands," Draco said lowly. "The Dark Lord –"

"He returned, I know. Again. But then I didn't see you for weeks and when I do…" Hermione shook her head. "You were _cruel_."

"What? Did you think one kiss would change that?" His jaw locked in place. "Did you think I'd turn from frog to prince just like that? I've always been cruel, Hermione, and I don't know how you expected anything different."

"In the attic the night Harry came back… you were so sweet to me," she said, obviously not believing a word he said. "When I was coming back from the Veil, I heard your voice. You were begging me to wake up. You said you cared about me. And then…you were back to being the Slytherin prat you always were."

Draco didn't know how to respond to that. She was right. Every single word was true. How could he deny that? "What do I have to do to get you to forgive me?" Draco finally said. He didn't know what else to. He just wanted her to stop hating him. He missed the days when she would always greet him with a smile.

Hermione was quiet while she turned down the bed. Just before she left the room she looked him dead in the eyes and said, "How can you look for forgiveness when you never even apologized?"

Draco watched her walk away and thought, _I'm more sorry than you'll ever know. _

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	6. In Which The Truth Is In The Blueberries

A/N. You all had some great guesses about where our young protagonists should be Sorted to! Unfortunately, though, I know EXACTLY when their intended Houses will be revealed and it will not be until the third part of the trilogy! And it's not how you'd expect, either *wink*.

Okay, another challenge: In the end, how do you think everyone (all of JKR's characters and my OCs) will be paired up and if they'll be paired up at all? Perhaps one of the gang will die alone? What are your thoughts and why?

Also, the Rita Skeeter issue will not be addressed this chapter, so sorry you guys who were expecting something about that situation (that entire thing will be taken care of next chapter, I believe). This is more of a fun chapter to lighten things up.

…~oOo~…

Chapter Five: In Which The Truth Is In The Blueberries

It went against each and every one of Draco's natural instincts. Never in a million years did he imagine this would happen, that he'd be lowered to this. But he was getting desperate and as the cliché went, desperate times called for desperate measures.

It wasn't like he had anyone he could go to. Every male figure in his life was either too cynical, too Slytherin, or too dead. Or too cynical, too Slytherin, _and _dead. And he hated just about everyone else, so he was in a corner. He was running out of time if he hadn't run out already and something had to be done!

If it was an apology Hermione wanted, it was an apology she would get. But the "how" was where it got complicated. Simply saying it after ignoring and being rude towards her after a year wouldn't do much, he imagined. And he had the sneakiest suspicion a bouquet and some chocolates wouldn't cut if for her.

Maybe he needed to see it from a different point of view, a different angle, hear some ideas from a mindset drastically different from his own. Someone lighter, more clear-minded, less burdened, and who wouldn't turn away the second he started talking to them.

With a big huff, Draco walked across the lawn of Mould-on-the-Wold where, upon his leaving as teacher, there were hoops and Quidditch pitch boundaries set up. Harry Potter hovered over the grass on a broom just in case something happened to his Seeker apprentice above.

"That's right, Adam! Good dive, and a very smooth save!" Potter shouted his encouragements.

Frankly, watching Adam on a broom always made Draco extremely anxious. He had no idea why, he just got a pit in his stomach and wanted to drag him back down to earth where the young boy belonged, where gravity intended him to be.

"Potter, I need to speak with Adam about a matter of utmost importance," Draco said, leaving no room for argument. It was clear by his stony expression, tone of voice, and body language that he meant business.

"Er… Sure, Draco," Potter said, blowing the whistle around his neck and waving Adam down. Around the bottom of the pitch a few of the new First Years were practicing hovering and short distances. It must have been time for the older kids' lessons.

"Anything wrong?" Potter asked, a concerned furrow in his brow.

"If it were any of your business, I would have told you already, wouldn't I have?" Draco said shortly.

Once on the ground, Adam beamed when he saw his old flying instructor. Before Adam could start yammering, Draco motioned for Adam to follow him around the side of the house towards the garden.

"Alright, Casanova, you claim to know a bit about women, yes? You've bragged in the past," Draco noted as they walked, his hands in his pockets in an attempt to seem at ease. But really they were clenched into fists. Merlin, this was so wrong. He was asking a thirteen-year-old boy for advice on girls! When Draco was thirteen, he didn't care about how girls thought or what they wanted – he just cared about what he could rut up against next, the end. Why did he think Adam Nolan could figure out something he couldn't?

"Sure, lots," Adam said with a big, wide grin. "Why, what's up? Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No, I don't have a _girlfriend_," Draco said, never having liked the word, and liking it even less as he got older. Hermione wasn't a girl; she was a woman. As if he'd settle for less. And for his own father, it was a courtship, then a betrothal, a marriage, and then a long period of time where you mostly ignored each other and found a mistress or three. So Draco didn't have really any real relationship with the word "girlfriend" except for that time at Hogwarts where Pansy would insist she was his.

"Are you trying to get one?" Adam asked.

"When you're older, you don't 'try to get one', you more or less wait for one to come around that you don't at all mind and find a way to get her to _not_ despise you," Draco answered.

"_Okay_…" Adam said, drawing out the word for a long time, trying to process what his self-proclaimed mentor was telling him. "Does this have to do with Miss Hermione?"

"I thought you called her 'professor' still?"

"She said it didn't matter to her anymore, that she feels she doesn't deserve it because she hasn't completed the schooling," Adam said. "But the girls still do. You're changing the subject," he accused.

Draco sighed to himself. "Say, hypothetically, you made Miss Baker angry –"

"Chelsea doesn't get angry," Adam objected. 

"Every woman gets angry. But say you did and –"

"No, really, Chelsea doesn't get angry, just quiet," Adam insisted. "And she's always quiet. Sometimes she'll whack me, but –"

"_That's not the point,_" Draco hissed and halted to stared Adam down. "Listen, will you? Chelsea is hacked off. You did something irreparably stupid. The normal things don't work, like flowers or soliloquies in gardens under balconies. Got it? What would you do?"

"Hmm…" Adam said, thinking. "I mean, it would really depend on what I did. You aren't giving me much to go on." 

"If you're fishing for information concerning my personal life, you're doing a very bad job of it," Draco said with a sneer. Adam was too Gryffindor for his own good.

Adam sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fine. But if I got Chelsea angry – so angry that she actually seemed angry, which would be something – I would probably… I dunno… make her something."

"Make her something?" Draco said skeptically.

Adam shrugged. "Sure. She loves little knickknacks. She's always carrying about that ribbon, the one she wears in her hair, and making it into a necklace or a bow. She's creative. And I think she'd like to see that I made some kind of effort in my apology."

"Effort, eh?" Draco said, already thinking deeply on it. "A physical effort."

"Well, yeah," Adam said. "Sometimes words aren't enough, you know? Especially for girls. They always want a bloody production, it seems. Except for Chelsea, though. But I figure she's the exception to the rule. Yvette though…" He shook his head with a heavy sigh.

"Girl problems?" Draco inquired, amused.

"Yvette is just tough to be around, she's very…loud… She's like the Anti-Chelsea." He smirked.

"You like Chelsea, yes?" Draco lifted an eyebrow.

"I like a lot of things, Mr. Malfoy," Adam said vaguely. "But personal information can only be exchanged for personal information, so unless you're ready to tell me what's really going on with Miss Hermione, then –"

"Go bother Potter now," Draco said stiffly.

Adam pouted.

"Seriously. Go," Draco urged.

Grumbling under his breath like a true teenager, Adam slouched off back towards the small pitch. Although, he did have something interesting to talk to Chelsea about later.

…~oOo~…

Two days later Fred and George Weasley went by Moony's to do a workshop with the students, something they did once a month. They usually chose one of their products that were proven safe and showed them how to make it. They made a day of it, spending two hours with each age group and then letting them keep their little pranks or toys to wreak havoc on their school, as it was abundantly clear to the Weasley twins that every school should have havoc wreaked on it.

That day they would be making a simple hair color changing potion. It was easy, it was fun, and took up enough time that they wouldn't have normal class and with plenty of downtime to show off the products from the store. With Diagon Alley being trolled by Ministry officials day and night, business was slow, but more than slow it was extremely boring. They wanted people to be enjoying their whizbangs and firecrackers, so seeing the kids' eyes light up at something new after being cooped up for so long was definitely special. And leaving them a bauble or two despite Hermione's express orders not to was always fun.

After the First, Second, and Third year kids were done with their potions, it was lunchtime.

"Well, I'd say today is successful so far, Georgie, how about you?" Fred said.

"Couldn't agree more, Freddie," George said, smiling wide. They stood by the door, letting kids flood out of the big room they'd used. He watched as Fred slipped a dungbomb into the tall, skinny boy's pocket.

All the kids were jabbering about their new potion, all wondering how they should use it and when. This was why Hermione let Fred and George come around even if it inevitably meant trouble – because they seemed to brighten the world. Or at least her little world.

"You did a good job, boys," Hermione said, being the last one to leave the classroom after chaperoning. Sure, they lightened the old manor up, but that didn't mean she was going to let them stay in a room with a bunch of kids unsupervised. Recipe for disaster, that would be. She stretched up on her toes to plant kisses on each of their cheeks. "I'll see you in the dining room for lunch." And she walked past them, following the mob of children.

George noticed Fred noticing Hermione's derriere in that skirt and couldn't help but smirk at his brother and elbow him playfully. Fred just shoved him back and they both laughed.

"She looks good," Fred noted with a leer in his eyes.

"She has better sense, you know," George said. "Probably wouldn't think it sensible with the war going on."

"Bah," Fred said, waving that off. "We've got to stuff in as much fun as possible while there's still fun to be had."

"Erm, excuse me?"

They both turned to look behind them to find one last student lingering in the doorway. It was the shy girl with the boy haircut. George blinked.

"Wow, we didn't even see you there," Fred said, eyebrows up by his hairline.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"No problems," George assured her. "Anything you need?"

"Dungbomb? Firecracker?" Fred added.

"Whizbang? Creepy Crawlies?"

"Um…Well, no," she said, seeming very nervous. George looked down to see her hands shaking right before she realized the same and clasped them in front of her. Poor thing was too small to be so anxious. "I have a question, you see. About one of your…products."

"Fred, I think I've got this," George assured his brother. Maybe she was better one-on-one. He was just worried she would faint from nervousness. "Save me a seat at the table."

"Sure thing, brother," Fred said, winking. He probably thought George was giving him a chance to go flirt with Hermione. He ran off, whistling a jolly tune.

George was grateful when he saw the girl noticeably relaxed. "What's your name again?"

"Chelsea," she said, looking slightly disheartened.

"Ah, that's right," George said, nodding, remembering a girl much mousier from the year before. "You've certainly grown!"

She sighed like she wasn't thrilled with this.

"Let's start walking to lunch, then," George said brightly, offering her his arm with a flourish.

She hesitated, but put her small hand in the crook of his elbow. She wasn't shaking anymore, so that was a good sign.

"See, I've got this friend," Chelsea began hesitantly. "And my friend is curious…what exactly is the Kissing Concoction?"

"It's nothing more than a watered-down love potion," George answered, smirking. Girls thought they were so sneaky with the "it's for a friend" business.

"What does it do?"

"Well, it simply makes one's natural feelings towards someone more…obvious. Unless of course you add a hair from yourself, in which case it will cause the drinker to have a temporary, false infatuation with you," he answered.

Chelsea's eyes got really big at that. "I wouldn't dream of…of…"

"Manipulating someone like that?" George finished for her. "Well, love, many would. And would pay for the privilege of doing so. It's only temporary and isn't real. No true harm done in the end, except for perhaps a little bit of embarrassment. But at its most basic, it just makes one more confident with the object of one's affections."

"Hmm," Chelsea said, considering this. "Well, Mr. George, I was wondering if I could…barter for a bottle of it?"

"Barter?" George said with a chuckle.

"I don't have any money," Chelsea said simply. "But…I mean… if I could owe you…"

George pretended to think about this, just to keep the girl on edge. "You would owe me a favor?"

Chelsea nodded.

"What sort of favors could you do? I mean, you're only – what? – twelve?"

"I'm a small thirteen-year-old," Chelsea lamented. And here she thought she'd gotten taller. Then she felt a ramble coming on and she couldn't do much to stop it. She just wanted to prove that she was good for favors. "But I am small, so I can… sneak around places. I've recently discovered in the last twenty-four hours that I'm actually quite adept at…stealing. I can remember almost anything and I am a good organizer."

"Did you say stealing?" A girl after his own heart.

She nodded, slightly ashamed.

"Deal, then," he said, popping a bottle out of his pocket and holding it out to her. "I was going to entertain you at lunch and let you all see ol' Longbottom and Lovegood snog over their pudding, but I dare say I find this investment much more interesting. I may hold onto the favor for a while, though, if you don't mind. Someday I might need something stolen without it being tracked back to me and I think I can trust you to be quiet about it."

Taking the potion in her palm, Chelsea said quite seriously, "I'm quiet about everything."

…~oOo~…

Hermione was working the crick in her neck from being bent over her desk for an hour when there was a knock on her office door. She figured it was one of the newest students, the class of First Years, because they were certainly a curious bunch. She called out, "Come in."

The door opened and in walked two of the students she had the biggest soft spots for.

Yvette and Chelsea were both growing into very pretty young ladies, and smart as well. Once upon a time, she would have called Chelsea the most studious, but it seemed that Chelsea simply had quite the photographic memory, but when put into application – namely potions or philosophy – she didn't shine as brightly as in essay work or tests. And once Yvette realized that her sourness wasn't about to get her any friends and that her wand simply refused to get along, she threw herself into her studies. She still complained the worst, but at least she was turning up some decent grades. She even retained a few lessons.

And, another hobby of Yvette's, she enjoyed baking which was why she seemed to be carrying a pie to Hermione.

The two young teen girls both stood before, each putting their offering onto her desk. Yvette's was the pie – blueberry by the look of it – and Yvette's was a cup of tea which was the perfect shade of light brown which meant it was the precise amount of cream she preferred.

And Hermione knew something was wrong when Yvette didn't say anything. It was normally Chelsea's thing to stare awkwardly at her feet at her hands. Yvette usually let the world know she was entering the room before she opened the door.

Even stranger that Yvette and Chelsea were willingly spending time together.

"Well, this is a lovely surprise," Hermione said with a smile. "Is everything alright? Is something broken or did you give Adam a potion that gave him rabbit ears?"

"Nothing like that," Yvette said, shaking her head fervently. "No, no, no. Not at all. We just wanted to…say hello and…show you that we appreciate everything you do."

Chelsea nodded in agreement, ever silent.

"And," Yvette said, "maybe wanted to cheer you up since…well…you've seemed sort of down. Wouldn't you agree, Chelsea?"

Chelsea nodded again.

"Oh," Hermione said. "I'm sorry to have concerned you both, but I'm fine, I assure you."

"Are you sure?" Yvette pressed, brushing one of her blonde curls out of her eyes. "Because you've seemed different."

"Again, I am sorry…" Hermione said, feeling bad for letting her personal life influence her responsibilities as a teacher.

"Oh, no, don't apologize," Yvette said. "I don't care, I'm just nosy." Very blunt. Very Yvette. And she completely missed the look that Chelsea shot at her.

"I care," Chelsea offered quietly.

"Well, this is very kind," Hermione said, examining the pie. It was still warm to the touch. And the tea was steaming. She took the mug in her hands and sipped it. "I think I'll share the pie with the other teachers, if that's alright with you."

"Whatever," Yvette said with a shrug. "Come on, Chelsea." With a little hair flip and flounce Yvette began towards the door, the permanent bounce in her step.

Chelsea hesitated, hanging behind for a moment.

"Do you have something you'd like to talk about, Chelsea?" Hermione asked.

After a short pause, Chelsea shook her head and followed along behind Yvette.

As ever, Hermione was concerned for Chelsea, but if the girl didn't want to talk about it, she would not. Hermione had tried in the past to get Chelsea to talk but it never did work.

Shaking her head, but smiling at the cup of tea, she took another sip. Perfect cream, perfect sugar. She returned to her grading.

…

"I cannot believe you, of all people, convinced me this was a good idea," Yvette whispered as they moved quickly down the hallway. "You're absolutely mad!"

"Well, you can't give 'er all the credit," Margot said, appearing out of nowhere it seemed. Really, she was just very sneaky, and it was easy to slink around unnoticed when she wore all black in a very dimly lit house. "Can you imagine if Chelsea thought up such a plan to actually slip a potion to 'er favorite professor?"

"I should have known!" Yvette said with a small stamp of her foot. "Of course you came up with it. You're the only real psychopath I know around here."

"In all fairness, the blackmail was Chelsea's idea," Margot said with pride. Chelsea's head just hung lower in embarrassment.

Yvette gave Chelsea a hardy shove. "I bet you're the one who pinched my diary too! I can't believe you went in my room!"

"I can't believe you used the word 'hunky' to describe Adam," Margot said with a wrinkle in her nose. "'E is a _beanpole_."

Chelsea went into her pocket and pulled out a little block. She tapped it with her wand and it enlarged itself into a book which she held out to Yvette. The blonde girl snatched it up indignantly and held it to her chest, nose in the air. And she marched away.

Chelsea was biting her lip curiously.

"What is it?" Margot asked.

With a sigh, Chelsea said, "She's going to share it."

Margot blinked, her smirk leaving her face. "With who?"

"The other teachers."

Margot made a frustrated noise. "Why couldn't we make a cupcake? Why did it have to be blueberries?" 

"Blueberries are the only things that can truly mask the taste of the Kissing Concoction, according to Mr. George," Chelsea said lowly. Mr. George had been really nice to her and told her all about the potion on the way to lunch the day before after the workshop.

"Then why not blueberry cupcake?"

"Yvette said she didn't know how," Chelsea said with a shrug. Biting her lip, she added, "Do you think…Adam has a diary?"

"Not likely," Margot said as they walked towards the stairs. "Adam is a boy, after all. They do not relish seeing their emotions down on paper. Why?"

"Just…curious."

"Eager for more blackmail? You took Yvette's easy enough. What do you 'ave in mind?"

"Nothing," Chelsea said. "Curious if maybe…Adam thinks the same things about…Yvette."

Looking over at Chelsea, Margot felt bad for the younger girl. Even Chelsea didn't even realize her feelings yet, not really.

"She isn't 'is type," Margot said, which seemed to make Chelsea lift her chin up a little more. She'd been particularly melancholy lately and Margot was yet to find out why. "When do you think they'll eat it?"

"Their staff meeting is tomorrow afternoon," Chelsea said.

"She may just wait until then," Margot mused. "Well, either way, in twenty-four hours, this school is going to get a little mad."

Chelsea was already starting to regret their entire plan.

Adam came running towards them, looking flushed and excited. "Everything go according to plan?" He'd been the mastermind and the mastermind alone. He'd delegated tasks and even chosen the potion to use. But beyond that he mostly sat back and let the girls did what they did, which they did with more grace and poise and less stumbling than he would have.

"Yes, with no help from you," Margot said, rolling her eyes.

Chelsea nodded.

"Great!" Adam said, holding up hands for high-fives.

Margot and Chelsea both just walked past them. Margot because she disliked Adam, and Chelsea because she knew that this all would backfire horribly.

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	7. In Which There Is A Conspiracy

A/N. In my spare time I've been writing a Borgias fanfiction, just for myself. But if you guys wanted, the story is pretty self-explanatory even if you haven't watched The Borgias. And if you have, even better! (Borgias fan high-five!) It's modern day about a collection of mafia families and a boss with big ambitions who is not unwilling to drag his family down with him with his hunger for power.

So if you would be interested in reading that, let me know. I never really planned on posting it, but, hey, if any of you would like a little something to read on the side and be updated in between this story, just say something in your reviews. If not, feel free to say so as well! *smiles*

By the way this chapter is, as Draco calls it, a "convoluted Gryffindor mess".

…~oOo~…

Chapter Six: In Which There Is A Conspiracy

The contents of the trunk had not been what Chelsea expected. It was a lot of journals written in a different language with diagrams and pictures of things that Chelsea didn't recognize. The journals and foreign books were the bulk of it, but among them were a few objects that Chelsea could only call "creepy". Like the jar with what looked like the skeleton of a baby dragon floating inside it. She's pretty sure she found its eggshell in another box. Then there was the huge orange, red, and yellow feather. And, finally, a pocket watch.

Chelsea took the pocket watch in her hands and blew off the coating of dust. It was very ornate, swirling patterns on the one side and that strange symbol on the front. It was the same pocket watch she saw the imaginary man in the cellar look at all those nights ago. Looking closely at it, she traced the triangle with her finger, the circle in the center of it, and the line bisecting both the triangle and circle. When she clicked the little brass button and it popped open, she found the face to be cracked and the hands to be utterly stagnant. The time was frozen at exactly 6 o'clock.

And the inside was engraved with the words: _G, Transit umbra, lux permanent. –A_

The initials were too familiar. She remembered the music box from the year before when Adam first introduced her to the cellar. When they first started poking around they found that little box and the key and inside the ballerina who danced, but was reflected in her mirror as a bear. And the letters inside, how the poured out with love according to Adam. She remembered the day that Adam ran to her and told her about how he'd gotten a nice long look at the letters when Malfoy was away from the desk. About how they were, in his words, "lovey-dovey-gooey".

So the watch was a gift from a lover. She wondered why this G would abandon such a gift in a trunk in a cellar.

On a whim, she tucked the pocket watch into her pocket. She would have to stop exploring before she had a collection. The ribbon in her hair, the pocket watch, what was next? One of the portraits?

Chelsea locked up the trunk and returned upstairs to be with the living.

Anyway, the staff meeting was in an hour and she wanted to find somewhere to hide but also watch on.

She was about to go into one of her favorite cupboards to listen into the staff room when Adam came zipping towards her like a comet, breathing heavily.

"Things are going to get more interesting than we thought," Adam said, pushing her into the cupboard and slamming it behind them. He was talking fast and Chelsea was paying close attention to catch it all. "You know about how we just assumed that if Miss Hermione ate the pie she'd Floo out to find Mr. Malfoy because it's so obvious they like each other and they'd maybe stop fighting? Yes, well, guess who just walked through the front door? Mr. Malfoy! I asked him what he was doing here and he said he was here for a meeting which can only mean the staff meeting which means we may get quicker results!"

Chelsea swallowed. "Adam…"

"Yeah, Chelsea?" he said, pressing his ear into the wall eagerly to listen for the start of the meeting.

"I've been thinking…this was a bad idea."

"Why?" Adam asked, surprised. "Mr. Malfoy really fancies Miss Hermione and if she just let him know she felt the same way, they'd be so much happier. They're both just stubborn. Watch, everything will go great!"

Chelsea wished she shared Adam's enthusiasm, but she just felt nauseas instead.

…

"Hello, Malfoy," Harry said as the Death Eater walked into the staff room.

Instead of answering, Draco just gave him a look and moved to a spare seat at the table. The staff room was an old room with a round table in the middle of it that they threw a tablecloth over with a pie and a teapot in an attempt to seem civilized. The floor floors were all dented and the ceiling was the color of piss. It really was a dreadful room.

He unbuttoned the one done button on his jacket and sat down directly across from Hermione so she would have to look at him during the meeting.

Neville and Luna sat side by side, holding hands on top of the table. Krum who still taught Defense to the kids most days sat next to Hermione, which irked Draco deeply. They were even bloody chatting. Draco had hoped the language barrier still caused some issues – for Christ sake, he couldn't even pronounce her name correctly – but apparently they were all buddy-buddy. Draco considered for a moment if he was above borrowing a Weasley product to get rid of Krum's tongue for a little while. It would make talking and other activities a little difficult.

_Not _that Krum was engaging in said "other activities" with Hermione. Or at least he better not be.

Well, that wouldn't be a problem. Because back at his office in the Ministry Draco was in the middle of folding one hundred paper birds, just like the ones he used to send to harass Potter, only prettier and less aggressive. Apparently women liked it when you made them stuff. And truly, folding doves showed quite a bit of effort on his part and seemed to be the perfect apology.

"Let's get this show on the road," Hermione said once everyone was seated and the chatting began to subside. "So, we're just going to put aside the staff meeting format for now and figure out what we're going to do about Skeeter. Oh, and feel free to have a slice of pie, everyone."

Most of them said, "ooh" or "mmm" as they began passing around what looked to be a blueberry pie. He silently passed it onto Potter without taking a slice, not trusting anyone's baking at that manor to be good. If Luna had made it, it probably only looked like blueberry and was actually nightshade. He just wasn't going to risk it.

"Rita has been haranguing me in letters about her promised interview with Harry Potter," Hermione said, cutting into the pie and taking a slim slice and handing it to Krum. "I reminded her that our Vow said nothing in detail about when she'd get the interview, but you can only imagine her reaction to that."

"I'll just do the interview, I don't see why it's such a problem," Harry said. "I mean, the woman's a harpy, but it will certainly make an impression if an article about my resurrection were to come up now."

"It has to be the perfect moment, though," Neville said. "We have one shot at this."

"It's true," Luna said in her sing-song voice. "It's the one ace we have, as the Muggles say. We've got to play it at the perfect moment, otherwise… It's wasted and we don't have anything else, really."

"Apart from the prison break," Draco added, pouring himself a cup of tea. "Azkaban has its monthly roll call coming up and once they realize Kingsley is gone… I think the days following those headlines would be the perfect time for this release. It would cause madness. First a prominent figure from the rebellion and their bloody savior return at once."

"Morale vould be restored," Krum said, nodding his head in reluctant agreement with Draco.

_I don't need your support, you stammering Bulgarian jockstrap. _Draco gratefully had the sense to keep his mouth shut, but God, of all people to back him up on a strategy, did it have to be Hollow Skull Krum?

"Or should the article on Harry be released before they find out Kingsley's missing?" Neville asked. "Just spit-balling."

"This is really good pie!" Hermione said abruptly, her voice very loud in the calm room.

Everyone looked at her, sort of surprised by her outburst.

"Yes, it is," Luna agreed.

"She outdid herself, really!" Hermione said, giggling uncontrollably.

Draco blinked. "Who outdid herself?"

"Yvette! She's been baking up a storm because Molly has been teaching her and…" Then she looked up from the pie at Draco and started blinking, her eyes getting wider. "Wow…your eyes are _incredible_, Malfoy. Or Draco. Can I call you Draco?" She leaned way forward, propped up on her hands on the table. "We've known each other for so long now."

"Er, yes?" Draco said, more than slightly perturbed. What was she smoking? And when he looked over to find Neville and Luna snogging too passionately for being around other people. Never did he have to know how high-pitched Luna's moans were. And now they'd never leave his brain.

Pushing back a gag in the back of his throat, he looked over to find that Krum abruptly left the room and Harry was dazedly twirling one of Hermione's curls without her even noticing.

And it all put itself together in his head. He steamed for a moment and regretted ever going to Adam. This had to be all his doing – it had "convoluted Gryffindor scheme" written all over it.

Since Draco was the only one with any sense, he had to play babysitter. First thing he did, and he felt it was totally justified considering they were all drugged, walked around the circular table to slap Harry's hand away from Hermione's hair.

"You, Potter, are going to go leave this room and find those miscreants who – NO, I said stop that!" Draco said, slapping his hand again when he ignored Draco.

"I feel really strange," Hermione said, seeming as loopy as Luna, and leaned her whole face into Draco's stomach, gripping the lapels of his jacket. His eyebrows shot up as the sudden contact. She was pulling on his clothes and taking deep breaths. "Draco, you smell _so_ lovely, I could just inhale you _forever_." She looked up at him with her big brown eyes glazed over, but it was the first time in a year she didn't look at him with anything except contempt. And she looked so soft and affectionate like a kitten, he didn't have it in him to just wrench her away from him.

If this was a love potion, there really was only one way to handle someone under its influence. Objecting would do nothing. One had to play the indulgent counterpart to get anything done.

"Hermione… darling…" he said, feeling exceedingly strange.

"Hmm?" she said, her eyes brightening at the endearment.

"I'm going to need your help, alright? Just, if you'll stand up, we're going to get you to your bedroom."

"Brilliant," she said with lewd undertones, hopping up out of her seat and throwing herself into his arms.

"Not for…" Draco cleared his throat. "Actually, yes. Yes. You go upstairs to your bedroom, love, and I'll be there just when I take care of the students, alright?" Hopefully by the time he was done beating the hell out of Adam the potion would wear off.

"Nigel is in charge, you don't have anything to worry about," she said, taking him by his collar and dragging him towards the door. "Harry can watch them too."

"Huh?" Harry said from his seat. He looked like he'd been hit by a Confundus.

"Find Nigel, tell him something's gone wrong, and just make sure the kids don't blow anything up," Draco said sharply, hoping Potter would snap out of it.

"But…but… Hermione," Harry said, rubbing his eyes and looking more confused than ever.

Draco wanted to growl and just smack Harry. It was obvious he was having some confusion where his feelings for his friend was concerned, but if there was anything to learn from this entire Pie of Deception situation was that Hermione wasn't interested.

And part of Draco glowed. Part of him really did want to just say "bugger it all" and take Hermione to bed, but that would be the same thing as getting into bed with her when she was drunk. Sure, she wanted it, but her decision making skills were compromised and drunken women weren't always proud of themselves the morning after. Ergo, the so-called "walk of shame".

It was everything Draco ever wanted on a plate – Hermione's attention, her affection, her lust – and he was going to turn it down. There must be some kind of rule against this in the Bloke Code, but Draco would be damned if he weren't bloody _noble_.

"Just do as I say, will you?" Draco demanded. He looked over at Neville and Luna where things were getting very…heated. Uncomfortably so. "And let's get the hell out of this room and lock it." While Hermione was still hanging heavily on his body and clothes, Draco grabbed Harry by the back of his shirt and pulled them out of the room, slamming the door shut, and locked it. Three times.

There were some things that one could no unsee. And Draco was fairly sure he'd be having nightmares of being cock-blocked by morals and of the whacky plant-Nargles duo shagging all because of a stupid pie.

Once out of the room, Harry Potter seemed to start coming out of his haze. Maybe he hadn't eaten as much of the pie or maybe his natural state of stupidity affected the laced pie. "Nigel, you said," Harry said, shaking his head. "I'll…find him. Make sure everything is alright. Malfoy, what's happening exactly?"

"Stupid teenagers, that's what's happening," Draco said vaguely, trying his hardest not to hum with pleasure as Hermione pressed her face into his neck and began murmuring very, very naughty things to him.

Not quite understanding, Harry shook it off and began walking away.

"Good, he's gone," Hermione said lowly, fiddling with the top button of his shirt. "Let's head up to my room, now."

Swallowing hard, Draco shivered as Hermione's teeth grazed his earlobe. But it also made him horribly depressed, at the same time. She wouldn't be doing or saying any of this if she hadn't been drugged with whatever potion a thirteen-year-old could get their hands on. None of it was real, not really. It was temporary and would fade away and she would go back to hating him. At least outwardly hating him.

"I want to," Draco said quietly, running his thumb over her cheek. She leaned into his hand, closing her eyes. "I really do. More than you'll ever know. But…I can't, I'm afraid."

"Why not?" she asked, a little wrinkle between her eyebrows. She looked as heartbroken as he felt.

"In a little while, none of this will have been real," he told her. "Someone slipped a potion in the pie."

She looked shocked and confused. She shook her head. "I want you," she said, pressing closer to him. "I do. I have for a while. And I thought you wanted me."

_Of course I want you. I love you, _Draco thought with a sigh. "I do. But hanging out with you Gryffindors has actually given me a conscience and it's really a damn shame. Because you're beautiful and you'll probably never look at me this way again." He felt utterly defeated. He brushed a curl out of her face lovingly.

Without answering, Hermione placed his hands gently on his cheeks, her fingertips brushing his skin, and stretched up on her toes to press her mouth to his. Draco's eyes immediately shut to savor the feeling of her soft lips and the taste of her breath through the slight parting of them. It was the lightest kiss he'd ever been given. The people he'd kissed didn't have the capacity for tenderness – it was likely because of this that Draco loved Hermione so dearly.

"I'm sorry," he said, his lips still touching hers.

She knew what he meant. "I think I forgave you a while ago. I was just hurt."

Draco opened his eyes fully to look into hers. "Are you…back?"

"Whatever that was it wore off just as you starting talking about a Gryffindor conscience," Hermione told him. "Which I wasn't sure was a compliment or insult."

Draco took a deep breath. "Insult. Definitely an insult."

"Thank you," Hermione said, taking a small step away from being pressing up against him. "For being the responsible one in a room full of madmen."

"It's my business to keep my head around madmen," Draco said, separating from her fully. "Just be careful what you eat."

Then it seemed to hit Hermione fast. "Yvette! I cannot believe she'd… Well, I mean, maybe I can believe it… And Chelsea was there, but she'd never… Oh, those kids are in _so _much trouble!"

"You think Yvette and Chelsea had something to do with this?" Draco inquired, arching an eyebrow.

"Well, yes! I knew it was odd that they were spending time together… But why would they do something like this?"

"I was suspecting Adam because of a discussion we had the other day." Draco considered this. "But Yvette baked the pie and for whatever reason Chelsea was with her… Granger, I think we have a conspiracy on our hands."

"Adam, Chelsea, and Yvette," Hermione said, biting the inside of her cheek in thought. "They're bright enough, but they don't normally work together – Chelsea and Adam, but Yvette is a stretch. But I feel like there's a piece of the puzzle missing." 

It dawned on Draco. "That piece of a puzzle has a French accent and a bad attitude."

"Of course," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Margot. I'll be having a talk with those four. I can't imagine how they brewed a love potion like that. It wasn't just infatuation, it was almost like the Euphoria Elixir. It had to be an original brew, but none of them could have actually _created_ a potion. They're far too young."

"They had to get it from somewhere," Draco said. "I'll do some asking around. For now I've got to return to the Ministry. I have some very dull meetings to sit through. Maybe I should spike the coffee – it would at least make it more interesting." He started walking away like nothing had changed.

"Will you be…checking in soon?" Hermione asked after him.

Draco sighed. The hard part. "I'll try, but… my post at the Ministry is demanding."

"Of course," Hermione said, adjusting the hem of her skirt for an excuse to look down. "I'll see you… when I see you, I suppose." 

Draco nodded, but before he turned to walk away again, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Give those brats hell." And he was gone.

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	8. In Which The Dreams Return

A/N. I've started re-reading Shoebox Project again because I like to torture myself with "feels" (I've recently learned how to use that word properly).

Things have been crazy! I'm moving again (ugh, I know, it's the absolute worst, all the packing). Remus's first birthday is a month and a half away though! Yippee! He's so big and I cannot believe how time flies. I remember being pregnant with him and writing The Last Marauder. Crazy! Absolutely crazy!

Okay, there's a lot of set up and a few things that needed to be taken care of before we can get to the nitty gritty. This is a busy story, so a lot will be happening that needs to be set up. I hope you enjoy the build-up.

…~oOo~…

Chapter Seven: In Which the Dreams Return

"I have to say, I cannot believe this," Hermione said, never so serious in her life. It had taken a lot for her to buckle down and be the disciplinarian. She channeled her inner-Minerva and gave each of the four students sitting in front of her cold, hard glares. "Stealing, blackmail, drugging your professors… I'm appalled. Extremely disappointed."

Yvette pouted like no one had ever pouted before. Adam looked ashamed and Chelsea's head was hung low. Margot, though, looked only slightly embarrassed, but mostly frustrated. It was the look kids got on their face when they weren't ashamed of misbehaving, but of getting caught.

"You were the first class of Muggle-borns I took on and I did it because I knew you'd be afraid and ostracized in your world," Hermione said, pacing in front of them, her hands clasped behind her back. "I wanted you to give you a place to be yourself, just like Hogwarts had done for me. And you repay me by lacing my food with potions? Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?" she stressed. "What if I, or one of the other teachers, had been allergic to one of its ingredients? What is Mr. Malfoy _had_ eaten the pie and not been the only one capable to sort everything out? It was a mess, but it could have been a lot worse.

"Now," Hermione stared each of them down, "Yvette has told me what she knows. I'm unnerved that the three of you actually prepared someone to take the fall for you. Does anyone want to fess up to exactly what you did? I'm mostly concerned with how you got your hands on that potion. I know none of you brewed it, so don't lie to me."

The kids all exchanged looked but remained silent.

"That was not a suggestion," Hermione snapped. "You're all in trouble anyway, you may as well make this easier for yourselves. Did you have one of the older kids buy or brew it for you?"

"He didn't know what it was for," Chelsea spoke up, her head still hung low.

Hermione stared at her for a moment. She had definitely not been expecting Chelsea to be the first one to speak.

"I lied to him," Chelsea explained.

"Who?" Hermione asked.

"I don't want to say," Chelsea said very slowly, her voice trembling. "It isn't his fault."

And Hermione immediately knew the answer. Of course. The Weasley twins. She had a memory of looking at love potions in their shop with the half-baked idea to slip on in Ron's pumpkin juice. She sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of her nose. She wasn't going to punish all of the older and younger kids by revoking the workshops with the twins, but she would be having a firm talking-to with those boys and giving under-aged witches and wizards potions.

"You'll all be serving detention for the next two weeks and won't be allowed to attend the Mr. Fred and George's monthly classes for the rest of the year," Hermione decided. "And you all gain an hour on your curfew for the month. I'd say I'm going easy on you, considering your little conspiracy could have killed one of us had we been allergic. I hope you've all learned a valuable lesson."

"But I was blackmailed!" Yvette exclaimed, aghast. "I had no choice!"

"We all have a choice, Yvette," Hermione said. "You should have come immediately to me when this all started."

Yvette started sniffling like she was going to cry.

"Out, all of you," Hermione said. "Next time you all cause such trouble the punishment will be much worse, I assure you."

All of the kids dragged themselves out of their seats and walked out sluggishly. They looked suitably reprimanded. Good.

Part of her wanted to smile, though. Their schemes had brought her back to years of setting her professor's robes on fire. Frankly, she didn't know whether to be infuriated or impressed that they came up with such a plan. For goodness sake, stealing was one thing – she'd stolen from Snape's potion stores – but blackmail? She wasn't sure whose idea that was, but among the four, one of them had to be a Slytherin for orchestrating it.

Hermione went to the library. It wasn't as big as Hogwarts' library, but it was full of old, dusty texts from different families over the years. She even found one with Dumbledore's handwriting in it, the distinctive looping scrawl. She was looking for something on her next lesson – they were getting into Grindelwald's war – when she heard the library door open and poked her head around the corner of the shelf to see who'd come in.

"Harry," she said with a wide smile.

"I always know where to find you," Harry said with a grin. "What are you looking for?"

"Something on Gellert Grindelwald's life before he became a warlord," she answered, sliding a book back into place. "Do you need me for anything?"

"Nothing really, I just wanted to chat," Harry said, glancing down at his feet a few times and scratching the back of his neck. "Truth is, I'm a bit embarrassed about yesterday."

"Aren't we all," Hermione said on a sigh. "It's alright, Harry. We were under the influence of a very weird potion."

"I know that," Harry said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Still, it made me start to think, you know? About us."

"'Us' the Order? Or 'us', you and I?" Hermione said hesitantly.

"You and me," Harry confirmed. "We've never really talked about it."

"It?" Hermione asked, confused.

"You know," Harry said, obviously feeling awkward. His cheeks were tinged pink, and this was not a man who was embarrassed easily. "You saved me from wherever I was and I came back and ever since, I just felt like you and I had gotten pretty close."

"Of course, you're my best friend."

"Yes, but Ron is my best friend and it never felt like this, really," Harry said, leaning against a book case.

"Ron has…changed," Hermione said, thinking about their old friend. The injury to Ron's leg left more than a physical scar on him. He's become withdrawn, grumpy, and more cynical than ever. It was a shame, truly. No one could carry on a conversation with him without Ron becoming snippy. "We all have," Hermione acknowledged.

"So…you don't feel it?" Harry said, looking crestfallen.

"Honestly, I don't know what it is I'm supposed to be feeling," Hermione said. "I adore you. You're my dearest friend. I would have gone through the Veil a hundred times if that had been what it took to bring you back. And I know you'd do the same for me."

Harry took a deep breath. "I care about you, Hermione. I don't know when it started, but I do. Deeply. I'd been so confused these last few months. I didn't know if it was just the gratitude I feel towards you and our friendship, but after yesterday… I know. I want you to look at me the way you look at Malfoy."

Swallowing, Hermione felt her palms getting sweaty. "I… Malfoy and I… it's not…"

"It's not like that, I know," Harry said, nodding. "Which is why I have to tell you now. While the iron is still hot. While I still have a chance."

Hermione didn't know what to say. Harry was looking at Hermione with his big green eyes, seeming every bit confused as she was. The Boy Wonder's heart was always his weak point, the people he loved. She remembered how fiercely he protected Ginny when they had been together and about how forlorn and nervous he'd been while he was infatuated with Cho.

"Harry, I… if you're saying what I think you are…"

"I am," Harry said with a firm nod.

"Then… I'm flattered," Hermione said honestly. "But we both know that we're better as friends. With Ron –"

"I'm not Ron," Harry said, taking a step forward. "I think that much is obvious. I won't run off to the East without a moment's notice. I won't get passive aggressive or mean just because I fancy you. That isn't me."

"I know –"

"Then why can't this work?" Harry asked.

"I… just… Harry, it's so complicated and…"

"I remember the meeting," Harry said, nodding. "I know part of you wants Malfoy. But he's no good for you," he said, echoing Hermione's thoughts. "But I could be."

With her heart pounding, Hermione tried to form a coherent answer in her mind. Logically, there wasn't a reason why it couldn't work. They were best friends, both loyal, both enjoyed each other's company. And in all honesty, Harry _was_ probably better for her, but her heart was tugging her in a different direction, even if that direction meant trouble. But she'd always been drawn towards trouble, she just couldn't stay away. Even when it was Draco Malfoy.

"I wish I could return your feelings," Hermione said.

Shaking his head slightly, Harry said sadly, "He's going to break your heart."

With a heavy sigh, Hermione nodded. "Probably. But it's a chance I'm willing to take."

Seeming let-down and a bit moody, Harry said, "I'll always be here. I won't do the whole 'don't come running back to me' thing, because I'll be waiting." He gave her one last forced smile and left the library.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Hermione sorted herself quickly before leaving the library as well, wishing she had someone to talk to who would understand. But there was no one, not really. Harry was normally her confidante and he was obviously too involved. She talked to Malfoy, but she had a feeling he wouldn't be thrilled with Harry's confession. Ron was…well, Ron. He would get all uppity about everything and have a fit. Ginny was still sore from the fact that when Harry came back from the dead he didn't have much interest in her anymore and she was definitely the jealous sort.

And everyone else would just panic at the fact that she had feelings for Draco Malfoy. They'd all say the same thing. _Well, the right choice is obvious, Hermione. Harry, of course! You could love him, you could, it would just take time. _

They'd all try to convince her there was only one solution. But there was never just one way. Just as she'd told Yvette, there was always a choice.

…~oOo~…

"Are those for me?"

Draco looked up from his desk at the Ministry to find Astoria standing in the doorway, smiling. Her blonde hair was curled and hung around her shoulders. She wore a fancy little number, a slimming blue wrap dress with a matching sapphire necklace and satin heels. She looked ready for an evening out and Draco immediately realized he must have forgotten something.

He'd been so focused on his task, folding all the paper doves, that his assistant was constantly reminding him of his professional appointments and he'd completely put aside all personal ones.

"They're lovely," Astoria said, strutting forward to stand right over his desk, looking at all the paper doves spilling off the side of his desk and scattering the floor. "So many?"

"Yes," Draco said without hesitation. "It was supposed to be…romantic."

"Draco, I never had you pinned for a romantic," Astoria said with a coy smile.

He held the dove he'd just finished between his fingers. Its edges were perfect, it's wings elegant. It was the closest thing to perfection he'd seen in a while… Apart from the woman they had been originally intended for. "We all have sides of us we don't let others see," Draco answered vaguely. "And we're meant to share those sides only with the one who deserves to see you for what you truly are."

"You are…astonishing," Astoria said with admiration. She leaned across the desk and planted a chaste kiss on his lips. She rubbed her thumb across his mouth to get rid of the lipstick stain she'd left. "I hope you continue to let me see you for who you are."

Draco wished he was less of a coward and told Hermione everything. Everything about what was happening in the Ministry, how the tone was changing since Voldemort's return and about how more than ever he needed to follow Snow's and his father's orders. Percy Weasley was most privy to the stress the Ministry workers were under and made it clear to McGonagall, but no one could understand the pressure of the Malfoy family.

"Are you ready to go to dinner?" Astoria asked.

"Yes, just give me a moment," Draco said.

"I'll meet you at the elevators," Astoria told him and then left.

Opening the drop drawer to his desk he found the silly little velvet case his father had given him. A Malfoy heirloom, obviously. Lucius's giving such a priceless piece to Draco sent a very clear message. Popping open the lid and looking at the ring, Draco leaned forward on his desk and sighed. How could such a thing like diamonds and emeralds spark such a deep loathing in Draco for not only his father, not only the Malfoy name, but also himself.

Snapping the box shut, Draco slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket.

…~oOo~…

"_In this revolution of ours, we as a wizarding community have redefined magic. For the better, I dare say. We have brought back the values our world had been losing to the Muggles. There is a line between us and them and we have drawn it clearer than ever. With the gracious help of the Confederacy and Hilde Beauregard, the French Minister, we have reformed our justice system and prevented a full-blown civil war in the Ukraine. I am standing here before you, as your newly appointed Minister of Magic, with a promise to every witch and wizard in Britain. I will continue to work to improve not only our beloved Britain, but the world as well, bettering the quality of life for all magic folk. Draco Malfoy will be a name that each and every one of you, and history, would be keen to remember."_

…

Waking with a gasp and a racing heart, Chelsea curled her hands around her duvet to remind herself where she was. She was in bed at school. It was drafty and cool. Her skin was clammy. The ribbon that held back her hair as she slept was slightly too tight and was giving her a headache.

She pressed her cool palms to her face and took a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm her heart. The dreams were back and they were back with a vengeance.

The scene had been in black and white in her dream. In a large room with floating candles, at the front of it all, on a dais and behind a podium was none other than Draco Malfoy. His hair was slightly longer, all smoothed back, and wore a suit with a silver tie that brought out his cold, steel grey eyes. The only real difference in his face was a large scar through his eye that split his left eyebrow and made his eyelid droop ever-so-slightly. Standing by his side wearing a red dress and very fancy red hat had been a petite blonde woman who gave him a kiss once he finished his speech and had rubbed at the lipstick stain on his mouth with her thumb in front of the entire press.

Such a dream. It was too clear, too detailed for it to be only a dream. Something bad was coming and Draco Malfoy was at the center of it.

And she had no idea what she was supposed to do about it.

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	9. In Which There Are Obstacles

A/N. I don't know what to say except… this story has taken on a life of its own, really. This was supposed to be a somewhat linear plot at the beginning and now… well, here we are and I'm not quite sure which was is up and I don't very much care because I don't have the sense to. I should probably make this easier for myself, this whole plot, but I won't because I'm stubborn that way.

I always start a story by saying, "This will be the premise, the beginning. This will be the plot, the middle. And this will be the turning point and wrap-up, the end." It never turns out that simple. By chapter five, I say, "How about instead I make this the most complicated, emotion-heavy cluster-fuck in the world instead?"

In the very raw stages of Blacklisted, it was going to be a marriage law fic. It would be in the Voldemort triumphant world and Hermione would end of being the wife of Draco Malfoy while overthrowing Voldie from the inside, with the help of Draco. Hermione and Draco weren't supposed to fall in love, but instead develop a need and dependency for one another, becoming one another's anchors.

And, obviously, almost none of that stayed the same except the victorious Voldie and spy!Draco. So you can kind of see the flaws to my writing process. Nothing ever stays the same.

…~oOo~…

Chapter Eight: In Which There Are Obstacles

The headline read:

_Azkaban Prisoner Shacklebot Escaped!_

Grimmauld was swarming with people, Order members that hadn't been seen since the Battle of Hogwarts, all using their passwords, being escorted through the Floo, all eager to ask the same question. Is it true? Did Kingsley Shacklebot escape from prison?

It meant the cancellation of classes and it also meant that all of kids who could not be trusted to be left alone with the older kids at Mould-on-the-Wold – the Quartet of Terror as Longbottom had called them teasingly – were stuck at stuffy old Grimmauld because they needed to be under constant supervision. Otherwise they might start poisoning people again.

Chelsea sat with the latest edition of the Prophet on the floor in the corner of the sitting room. It was the only spot she had to herself. The house was that full. She could not believe there was ever this many members of the Order and couldn't imagine where they'd all went. Perhaps they went into hiding or perhaps they just went on with their lives in the new world. Because according to Professor Granger, the wizarding world was a drastically different place since the war.

The article was surrounding a huge picture of a very solemn wizard holding up a plate of numbers and runes. It was Kingsley Shacklebot, but not as she knew him. The man she'd met was older and skinnier and weaker than the oak tree of a man in the mug-shot.

The Minister of Magic Snow's only comment on Shacklebot's freedom was, "_He best enjoy his freedom while it lasts, because it won't for long_."

Adam was pacing back and forth, running his fingers against the wall as he went just to the right of Chelsea.

"Why are you pacing?" she asked when the curiosity was too much.

"He'll be here any minute," Adam said with certainty.

She immediately knew he meant Malfoy. "Why?"

"Because he works for the Ministry. He'll know what's happening."

Chelsea bit her lip. She wasn't sure if Mr. Malfoy being around was a good thing. Adam had been happy when they caught sight of him and Professor Granger snogging after the pie incident, but she'd never felt comfortable with Malfoy. Chelsea wanted to protect Professor Granger and Adam wanted to do the same for Mr. Malfoy, but Adam had no clue about her dreams. About how real they felt or how awful they were.

Lo and behold, though, Adam was right. Draco Malfoy came through the Floo only minutes later, looking as cold and disinterested as he usually did. His hair was getting a bit on the shaggy side so that even when it was pushed back, pieces fell on his forehead. Chelsea decided that she had no idea what her professor saw in this man, this detached and cynical man who seemed to cause Professor Granger nothing but grief.

And yet, in the back of her head, Chelsea had the fuzzy memory of a night she'd fallen asleep in the cellar while Professor Granger was looking through the tomes and in her sleep-addled state, she heard her professor and Malfoy talking. Professor Granger had been carrying Chelsea to bed when Draco came up to lighten the burden. Chelsea remembered Malfoy carrying her gingerly and whispers that the two teachers exchanged, the smiles in both their voices. Maybe there was something there, some kindness in Malfoy, but it wasn't enough for Chelsea to trust him.

Just as Malfoy left the room, striding quickly in the direction of the kitchen without stopping for pleasantries – which made Adam frown deeply at being ignored – there was a heavy pressure at the front of Chelsea's forehead. The world around her slowly became blurred, the noise around her muted, and she blinked wildly to try and adjust her vision.

With the people in the sitting room around her nothing but background noise and fuzzy blobs, clear as day she saw a young man pacing. He was tall and had long black hair tied into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He wore black trousers, shoes, and a black and silver waistcoat over a white shirt. The sleeves were shoved up to his elbows, exposing a mark that Chelsea had seen before. It was a skull devouring a snake and it took her a moment to realize it was the same tattoo that Mr. Malfoy had.

The young man continued pacing. Looking anxious and pensive, he tore at the top button of his shirt, the button popping right off. He let gritted his teeth, but let it go.

Then, out of nowhere, an elf popped into the picture. He scrambled over to the young man, who dropped down quickly to be level with the elf. There was no sound in this vision, only the buzz of the real world behind her, but she saw the elf hold something out to the man. Upon a second look, it was a piece of jewelry, a necklace of some kind. No, a locket. The man popped it open and took a piece of folded parchment from his pocket and tucked it inside. Standing up straight, he seemed to take a deep breath and clutch the locket in his hand.

The young man looked around the room one more time, his eyes grazing over everything, passing right over Chelsea, and then nodding to the house-elf. The elf held onto one of the man's fingers and they were gone. 

Chelsea came crashing back into reality so hard, she literally felt the impact of her return. She must have gasped for breath because Adam was looking at her very strangely. Her lungs were sore. Her heart was doing hopscotch with her ribs. She must not have been breathing for the entire duration of that vision.

_Oh, no, _she thought, suppressing the urge to cry.

How many more visions would she have where she couldn't breathe? And the visions were getting longer. If she had no control over her body and she had a particularly long vision…

Could these dreams and images and hallucinations actually kill her?

…

When Draco walked through the doors of the dining room, Hermione couldn't help but be slightly surprised. She didn't think she'd see him for another week at least. When Draco wasn't at the usual meetings, he was reporting to McGonagall after his weekly tea with his father at Hogwarts, so his attendance wasn't always needed.

They'd anticipated the headlines, the excitement, the return of the members who had been in hiding or left the country. There was no reason why Draco had to be there…unless something had changed in the Ministry. Something important.

Wading through the throng of people, Hermione met Draco and said, "McGonagall is at Hogwarts. If something has happened –"

"I don't need to talk to McGonagall, I need to talk to you," Draco said, looking around at all of the new and old faces. He nodded for her to follow him. Draco led her into the empty yard and did a quick perimeter check before casting a Muffliato over them and the porch they stood on.

"Snow is getting suspicious about the lack of accidental magic happening in the Muggle world," Draco said, right to the point.

That certainly wasn't what Hermione had expected. "Doesn't he have bigger things to worry about?"

"He's convinced his peons will have Shacklebot before the month runs out," Draco said dismissively. "He had faith in the new group of Aurors."

"Never did I imagine that one day Aurors would be synonymous with Death Eaters," Hermione said on a sigh. "But what does he plan to do about the muggle-borns he thinks are running about unprotected and wand-less?"

"As you said, he's got a lot on his plate," Draco said. "I give it a few more weeks before he starts looking into the muggle-borns who haven't been going to Hogwarts. He'll get their names from the records and eventually he'll want to investigate. He'll want to find them. And when they're not at home with their parents…" He paused as he himself processed the consequences. "It won't be pretty."

Swallowing, Hermione said, "We knew this would happen. We've prepared for this. We can send their parents away, put them in hiding –"

"We're trying to avoid suspicion," Draco said, shaking his head. "If Snow sends his goons to talk to the parents and none of them are in their homes, as American phrase goes, 'the gig is up'. He'll know the children are being hidden."

"He'll know the children are being hidden when they're all missing and their parents have no idea where they are," Hermione said firmly. "The choice is between the Death Eaters burning down empty houses or these children's parents burning down with them. We cut our losses, we deal with the consequences."

"Where are we going to hide a bunch of Muggles?" he demanded. "The safe houses are all at their max capacity. Nowhere in Britain or Europe is safe. There is something happening in the East that Snow has kept entirely to himself and he's established an understanding with Beauregard that had almost nothing to do with Margot any longer. He's already converted the Confederacy and had been making deals, bribes, and 'donating to the cause' to keep them in his pocket. Snow is at the core of the wizarding world right now and the Dark Lord is gaining strength every day. He was barely able to talk on his own a month ago and now he's taking evening strolls through Knockturn Alley and whispering in the ears of street rats and barmaids, the best sort of spies. There is too much happening right now to protect the students _and_ their parents."

"They could come here," Hermione said, grasping at straws. "We still have plenty of rooms."

"The parents will be the first targets and we cannot put the targets in the same place as the kids," Draco stressed. "It would be unwise and you know it. The Muggles are safest in their world, oblivious."

"Their world won't be safe or oblivious much longer," Hermione said firmly. "And we're all targets, Malfoy. Each and every one of us. By that logic we should be sending the children home." It got silent for a stretch and it dawned on Hermione. She took a deep, sobering breath and said with understanding, "That's why you're here. You want to send the children home."

"The Muggle world will be safe for a while yet," Draco said reasonably. "Snow has to have control over each wizarding Minister and royalty. He's got a few more regions to close in on before he can crack open the Muggle world and the unrest in the Ukraine will keep him occupied for a bit. Right now, our best tactic would be to throw as many obstacles in his way as possible."

"All we're doing is delaying the inevitable," Hermione said. "It's all we've been doing. Buying some more time. We need a big move. But our big move, the prison break, that's only another obstacle. Another hurdle for him to jump over. But he will jump over it, as he does with everything we put in his way."

"We have Potter now," Draco said, not liking her tone of defeat. This was not the Hermione he knew. "Skeeter will write the article and –"

"Another obstacle!" Hermione said, exasperated. "As brilliant as Harry is, he really is just one man. Not a messiah and not a weapon of mass destruction – just Harry. We learned that the first war when we expected victory all because of a few words spoken by a loony Seer and a scar the size of a thumbnail. These things do not win wars."

"And neither does hiding every man, woman, and child you believe deserves saving," Draco replied harshly. "Be realistic. You can't keep collecting innocent creatures and putting them in cages for their own good. You'll run out of hiding places and exhaust yourself. You cannot protect the world, Hermione, and you especially can't by locking it away."

The next breath came shaky and Draco knew what was coming. She covering her mouth with her fist and tried to calm herself to no prevail. The tears pooled in her eyes and spilt over while she took short, shaky breaths and pushed down the sobs. She was trembling when she took the step forward to huddle herself in Draco's warmth and tuck her face into his collar.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Draco sighed and gently rested his cheek on her head, his hand coming up to lay between her shoulder blades and rub circles with his thumb. He felt useless. There was nothing he could do to make her feel better and that was one of the worst feelings in the world.

"How long before they need to go home?" Hermione whispered miserably.

"I'll monitor the situation, but… for now, it will be a month before Snow starts sending Aurors out."

"The school year is nearly over anyway," Hermione said, feeling tired and overwhelmed. "It's funny. There were petrifications, possessions, escaped convicts on the loose, murders and so much more at Hogwarts when we were there, and yet it never did truly close. They never had us pack up and go, never to return."

"I like to think we have better sense than Dumbledore," Draco said dryly.

Hermione snorted. "He was a bit dangerous, towards the end. Everything he put us through. I though the Tri-Wizard Tournament had been brutal, but when he was grooming us to become his army… Well… desperate times, and all that."

"We won't prepare these children to fight our battles," Draco said, the solidity of promise in his voice.

Hermione nodded in agreement and then took her face away from his now-soaked collar and looked up at him. They were chest to chest and Draco felt her breath on his face. Ducking his head the last few inches, Draco placed a short, tender kiss to her mouth. She leaned up into him, one more tear rolling down her cheek and into their kiss.

"Thank you," Hermione said, still a bit dazed by his embrace.

"For?" Draco asked.

"That," Hermione said, a corner of her lips tipping up.

"It was my pleasure," he replied with a small smirk.

Hermione felt suspended in that moment. And for that blissful moment, she was some kind of happy.

But beyond the porch door were people waiting to be delegated tasks and orders and get updated on what the plan was. Unfortunately, there was no plan, but at least morale was high and that's what the Order needed.

Hermione didn't need morale. Just for that second she just needed Draco Malfoy.

_But duty awaits, _Hermione thought sourly.

…~oOo~…

"The French girl, Beauregard's brat, what is so special about her?" Lucius Malfoy inquired.

"I don't ask questions, Father," Draco said, the steam from his tea warming his face as he took a sip.

"But she lives with you," Lucius said. "Surely you've noticed something about her that would justify our good Minister's keeping her around?"

Draco shrugged. "She's a girl. She's a tool to keep Madame Beauregard in our good graces."

"Not any longer," Lucius disagreed, sitting back in the velvet cushions of the headmaster's chair. "Madame Beauregard is in Snow's pocket for good. They have an understanding. She'll be Minister of France before the end of the year, I imagine. There is no reason to keep the girl now unless there is something we do not know."

"We do not know many things," Draco said, feigning boredom. "My only concern is when I'll have my flat back. The girl is a nuisance."

"Does Snow still visit her regularly?"

"For the most part," Draco confirmed. "Why?"

"No reason," Lucius said smoothly. "Just curious."

"Don't be curious about Snow's affairs," Draco said. "You'll give yourself a headache."

Looking at his son for a long moment, Lucius then said, "Since when did you become the sensible one?"

"You've taught me to keep my nose out of business where I'm not concerned," Draco said, "and in your advancing age, I'll do the same for you."

Lucius scoffed. "Advancing age! Boy, I'll have you know that your father is still very much young."

"Sharing Daphne Greengrass's bed doesn't make you young," Draco said with a smirk, "it only makes you one of the few pureblood English wizards under the age of fifty. And even you won't be eligible for that category much longer."

Lucius sneered. "You wound me. But speaking of the lovely Greengrass family… how are things coming along with Astoria?"

"Fine," Draco said, his jaw clenching. His father knew Astoria was a subject he preferred not to talk about.

"When will you get on with the betrothal, then?"

"When I damn well want to, Father. Do not push me," Draco said snappishly.

"I will push as much as it takes," Lucius replied coolly. "You have one week. Astoria Greengrass will be wearing an engagement ring before our next meeting, or so help me, Draco, I will see that you lose the Malfoy name."

"In this political climate? You wouldn't dare," Draco challenged.

"In this _political climate_," Lucius said sharply, "your marriage to the Greengrass family is of the upmost importance. Do not ruin this deal for me, son."

"What deal do you have with Garrick Greengrass?" Draco demanded, unaware that there was anything besides the usual pureblood courtship going on.

"Take your own advice, Draco," Lucius said, "and keep your nose out of things that do not concern you. Just do as you're told and propose. Marriage isn't so terrible. You will find your distractions, as you always have."

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	10. In Which They Make Headlines

A/N. Okay, see, I hope you guys forgive me, but I have to say it…

AND SO THE PLOT THICKENS.

God, I'm glad got that off my chest.

…~oOo~…

Chapter Nine: In Which They Make Headlines

All of the kids were gathered in the dining room for supper, spread out over three large round tables. It tended to be separated between young and older children, but they sometimes mingled to tutor one another or talk Quidditch. There were about twenty-five students over all, between the older ones who left Hogwarts prematurely and the two years of muggle-borns exiled from formal wizard education.

Hermione, Luna, Neville, Harry, and Krum all sit at the teachers' table. Hermione was biting her nails nervously.

"Well, Harry, say something to them," Neville said, still shocked from Hermione's announcement that the kids had to go home.

"Me?" Harry said, his eyes popping open wide. "Why does it have to be me?"

"You're their role model," Neville said. "Merlin knows they like you the best."

"That's not true," Harry shot back. "They all like Hermione."

"No, they don't," Hermione rebuffed. "I'm the one who assigns them detention."

"Exactly why you should tell them, really," Harry said matter-of-factly. "They expect bad news from you."

"Ugh!" Hermione growled, pressing the heels of her hands into his eyes. "Viktor, can you tell them?"

"I do not think they know vat I am saying, most of the time."

"Sure, use the language barrier excuse now," Harry muttered, rolling his eyes.

Viktor smirked and shrugged, as if saying, _I am Bulgarian, what else can I do but use it when it suits me?_

"I think it would be best if you told them, Hermione," Luna said gently. "You started this school, it only makes sense for you to be the one to bring an end to it."

Hermione sighed heavily but knew there was no way around it. She stood up, clinked her glass to get all of the kids' attentions and began to speak.

…~oOo~…

"This is so unfair!" Adam said, kicking the chair so hard it toppled over.

"Can you stop hurting the furniture?" Yvette said, walking across the sitting room with a huff to right the chair, putting its legs into the correct dents in the carpet.

Chelsea just sat on the sofa Indian-style, looking at her hand.

"Really, dumbass," Margot said, glaring at him. "No one wants to listen to your temper tantrum. The school is closing. There is nothing you can do about it."

"Sure there is!" Adam said, throwing his hands in the air. "There has to be something!"

"Well, there isn't," Margot snapped.

"I'm excited about going home," Yvette said, throwing in her two knuts.

"No one cares, Yvette," Adam whined. "We all know you hate it here, blah blah blah. Well, guess what? I _like_ it here. I don't _want_ to go home. And neither does any other muggle-born in this house. You just want to go home because you suck at magic."

"I do not!" Yvette said indignantly, her shoulders straightening and standing to her full height. "My wand and I have gotten on quite good terms, I'll have you know. The only reason why I'm a little behind is because it took a while for my wand and I to get along."

"Sure, blame the wand," Adam said sarcastically.

Margot even smirked at that.

"You're nothing but a bully, Adam Nolan!" Yvette shouted.

"Well, you're nothing but a spoiled brat!" Adam shouted back.

"Better a spoiled brat than an obnoxious waste of space!"

"_I'm_ the waste of space?" Adam scoffed. "I'm still trying to get over the fact I have to breathe the same air as you!"

"Stop it!" Chelsea exclaimed, looked deeply stressed.

Everyone stopped and looked at her. Self-conscious once more, she took a throw pillow and hugged it to her chest, pressing her face into the top of it.

"Chelsea, I don't think I've ever heard you talk that loud," Adam noted in awe.

"Are you okay, Chelsea?" Margot asked, sounding slightly concerned.

Without saying anything else, Chelsea stood up and, taking the pillow with her, walked out of the room. Chelsea felt nauseas and the news of the school being closed only made it worse. Where was she supposed to go? The summer before her and her father lost their run-down little flat because they couldn't pay the rent and last she heard from her father he was still driving a cab and sleeping in the back seat when he could.

She was constantly worried about her father and he was finally making some money now that he didn't have to worry about where she would sleep or when and if she'd eat. She didn't want to become a burden to her father. And, as sad as it was to think, she didn't want to be homeless. She enjoyed having a bed and fireplaces to keep her warm and knowing when her next meal would be. Three months after her mother had died they were evicted and, she was very small, but she remembered the month of sleeping on spark benches while her father couldn't pull himself out of his stupor long enough to stop drinking and start working. She didn't want to go back to that place of cold and sadness.

She was happy at the manor. She was learning, she made a few friends, she had a mentor in Professor Granger. She missed her father, of course, but was wise enough to know they were better apart.

"Chelsea!"

Chelsea turned to find Margot jogging to catch up with her. "I think I know what is wrong," Margot said, looking at Chelsea with concerned blue eyes.

Chelsea shook her head. She doubted it Margot understood the full extent of what was going on in Chelsea's head. She was seeing things and people and visions, her dreams were sending very clear messages about Malfoy, and now she had to worry about being a burden to her father.

"The school is closing and you cannot go home, yes?" Margot said in her clear, concise English.

Chelsea nodded slowly. She might have mentioned to Margot that her father had lost their flat. Chelsea and Margot sometimes talked about their single parents. Chelsea had lost her mother at a young age and Margot had lost her father at young age, so it felt like she was the only who understood sometimes.

"Well, to be frank, I am sick of living with Malfoy," Margot said with a grimace. "And I am sick of Snow checking in on me every few weeks for no reason. I was planning on running away once the summer came and classes were over, but with the school closing now…" She shrugged. "Would you want to…come with me?"

Chelsea felt her eyes bug. "Run…away?"

Margot nodded. "England is not safe. Neither is France or Scotland. And things are not well in the East. The Ukraine has been –"

"The Ukraine?" Chelsea repeated, feeling her heart jump.

"Yes," Margot said slowly. "Just this morning in the Prophet, there was an article about riots breaking out in Ukraine."

"Civil war in the Ukraine," Chelsea breathed, feeling her blood run cold.

"Not yet," Margot said, her brow furrowing. "Just riots, so far."

In her dream. Newly appointed Minister Malfoy had said, "…_we have reformed our justice system and prevented a full-blown civil war in the Ukraine_." It was true. Her dream was real. There was no way she could have known about the unrest in Eastern Europe and now… Now she knew it was beginning. Before long Malfoy would be Minister and blood supremacy would rule wizarding. What was to become of them? The muggle-borns?

Malfoy did not yet have that scar through her brow, but it was only a matter of time.

"Yes," Chelsea said quickly. "Yes."

"You'll come with me?" Margot clarified, a little surprised to hear her accepting.

Chelsea nodded, but then hesitated for a moment. "But… the others…"

"They 'ave families, Chelsea," Margot said. "They'd be safer with them. They will live like Muggles and never be suspected. But my face is known because of my mother. And you 'ave no home."

Taking a deep breath, Chelsea nodded. She was so afraid. And she knew Margot was right.

"We will move faster on our own, anyway," Margot said.

"Where will we go?" Chelsea asked.

"Fiji," Margot said with relish, smiling.

"That's… really far away," Chelsea said, furrowing her eyebrow.

"Or somewhere like it," Margot said, waving it off. "Somewhere tropical. Warm. We can live on the beach. Somewhere away from all this madness."

"Alright," Chelsea said with the best conviction she could manage. "That sounds…good."

She just hoped Margot wouldn't hate her when Chelsea started slowing them down with her visions which were increasing in frequency and intensity.

But they would be away from Britain and that was all that mattered.

…~oOo~…

_Potter Back from the Dead?!_

_He is Risen! Harry Potter!_

_Could it be true?_

Rita Skeeter's article on Harry Potter had been published and the wizarding world was in an uproar. And so was the Dark Lord.

"HOW WERE THESE LIES PUBLISHED?"

The chief executive of The Prophet hit the ground, screaming in agony. Draco barely blinked, just kept himself calm by forcing himself to breathe regularly. His focus was entirely on his lungs, that was the key. He stood by his father who was actually less composed than Draco himself.

They were in the catacombs beneath the Ministry. Where revels were hosted, meetings were held, and captured Muggles were brought to be played with and, ultimately, killed. But now it was a temporary prison for everyone who was Marked and a few from the staff of the Prophet.

"I-I-I I am unsure, my lord," Angus Johnson stammered, now on his hands and knees after the harsh hit of the Cruciatus. The poor man's last thin strands of hair stuck to his shiny, sweaty head while beads of sweat ran down his face, mingling with his tears. "It never w-w-went through any e-e-e-editors, just ap-p-p-p-appeared at the p-printers…" He was trembling uncontrollably. His secretary and head editor stood behind him, holding each other's arms and shaking as bad as him, closing their eyes as Angus was hit with another Cruciatus.

"Who…wrote it…then?" Voldemort hissed, bending down to grab Angus's chin and dig his nails into the man's jaw, breaking skin. Blood dribbled down Angus's neck and he cried harder.

"We don't know," Angus's secretary spoke up when her boss clearly could not force out the words. She was crying as well, biting her lip and barely holding herself up.

That had been Malfoy's touch. Rita Skeeter, as stupid as she was, had put her name on the article. Of course she wanted the fame, but she was too daft to see that she'd be signing her own execution warrant. She'd wanted the fame, naturally, that's what she had been in for the entire time – but Draco was the one who put it through to the printers without anyone noticing and he wiped her name off of it.

"It was like a ghost did it," the secretary whispered, her voice dying in her throat. "No one saw anything."

Voldemort straightened up to his full height. His glowing red eyes shifted from Angus to the secretary. He seemed to be calculating something in his mind. "A ghost…you say?" he said softly, his voice like a hiss.

The secretary nodded shakily.

Voldemort picked up one of the copies of that morning's Prophet from the ground and slowly walked towards the young secretary who grew paler as he drew nearer. He held the paper up to her face, clearly showing the picture of Potter holding his own newspaper with the date on it to prove he was alive.

"_Potter_… is the ghost," Voldemort said, his voice deceptively soft. "He. Is. Dead. This picture has been…manufactured. Faked. _It is a hoax_. You will find who wrote it and you will recover exactly how it got to the printers with no one's notice or else you will die a more painful death than your boss."

Angus was about to squeeze the word "no" from his last breath when he was hit abruptly with an Avada Kedavra from the Dark Lord's wand.

The secretary closed her eyes, sobs wracking her body silently, but nodded jerkily. "Yes… yes, my lord."

"Good," Voldemort spat, shoving the newspaper into the girl's chest roughly. "Goyle and Goyle. Escort our editor and secretary out, would you? Oh, and before you go…" He looked at the two Prophet employees with a piercing gaze. "In the next few days, you will do two things. Headlines tomorrow will be confirming that this disgrace of an article is a hoax. And you will print something distracting, something exciting…" He considered this, looking around the room before satisfying satisfactorily on Draco. "Ah, yes. The announcement of Undersecretary Malfoy's upcoming nuptials to Miss Greengrass. That will do. Do a large print about it. Make it interesting and make it as _distracting _as possible."

The Prophet employees nodded silently before being half-dragged out by Goyle Senior and his son.

"Burkhart, I want you to find out how a photograph could be faked," Voldemort barked to one of his Death Eaters. "And Parkinson, you'd be wise to have good news for me concerning Wormtail."

"I'm doing all I can to track him, my lord," Parkinson said, his hands folding in front of him. He was obviously the genetic reason for Pansy's unfortunate nose. "All I know is that he left France more than a year ago and has likely returned to England."

"Likely?" Voldemort whispered. "Parkinson, I do not care for 'likely'. I need facts."

"I have no other information for you, my lord," Parkinson said, bowing his head.

"You have had the same scraps of information for the past month," Voldemort hissed. "Either you are completely useless or just an idiot. Which is it?"

Parkinson couldn't seem to answer. And when Voldemort's question was followed by nothing but silence, a sparking green light his Parkinson in the chest and he hit the ground like a sack of flour.

Two dead bodies on the floor. The body count was rising fast and it was becoming less and less safe to be standing in that room.

It was going to be a very long evening.

…~oOo~…

"Mr. Malfoy is getting _married_?" Adam exclaimed, his eyes wide as saucers as he examined the front page of the Prophet two days later. "But…but he can't!"

"What are you talking about?" Yvette demanded, stretching her neck to read what he was.

"Look!" Adam said, throwing down the paper in the middle of the table. Chelsea stretched her neck to see the paper and her eyes widened as well. Front page, standing side by side, was Mr. Malfoy and a blonde woman. The same blonde woman, as a matter of fact, as the one from Chelsea's dream. The one who'd kissed Malfoy after his speech and rubbed away her lipstick.

Her name, according to the article, was Astoria Greengrass, second daughter of the Greengrass family. Apparently the Greengrasses were rich purebloods, although Chelsea wasn't sure there were any other kinds of purebloods, really. Except for the Weasley family, but somehow she felt they didn't count. They weren't like the wizards who went to great lengths to keep the bloodline pure. According to the Professor, pureblooded families were known to inbreed in their pursuit to continue the purity.

It was sickening, really. Professor Granger said all purebloods were related somehow, which meant Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass were likely distant cousins, just like how the Weasleys were distant cousins to the Malfoys, the Blacks, and even the Potters.

It would be fascinating if it weren't so disgusting.

Chelsea had seen the family tree tapestry at Grimmauld Place, all the names, all the branches intertwining. The history was rich, cruel, and disturbing. There had been faces struck from that tree, left as nothing but burnt holes. Apparently casting aside family members wasn't uncommon in pureblood households, purity be damned.

"How could he do this?" Adam said to no one in particular.

"What's going on over here?" a new voice joined the conversation.

Adam, looking up to see Professor Granger, snatched the paper from the table and put it right under his bum. "Miss Hermione!"

Professor Granger arched an eyebrow at Adam. "What was that?"

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "A newspaper Nigel leant me. Dull stuff. Quidditch stuff."

Granger held out her hands wordlessly, giving him a look, and waiting patiently.

Heaving a sigh, Adam took the paper from beneath his bum and dropped it into their professor's hand.

They all watched her face closely as he eyes skimmed the page. They were expecting some kind of response. A gasp, bugging eyes, even just a crinkled brow. But there was nothing. Just a plain look like she was reading about something boring like the stock market. After a moment she handed it back to Adam.

"You all should write Mr. Malfoy congratulations," Miss Hermione said. "I have nice parchment in my office you can write it on and I'll make sure he receives them immediately. I'll see you all in class." And then with a small smile, she walked away.

"Well, that was anticlimactic," Margot said.

"She's heartbroken," Chelsea breathed, a pang in her own chest as he eyes followed her professor out of the classroom.

Adam looked doubtful. "She barely blinked, Chelsea. That's not the reaction of someone who's all torn up."

Shaking her head, Chelsea didn't explain. He wouldn't understand. Professor Granger was crushed and she wasn't going to let anyone see. Standing up, Chelsea walked out of the dining room in the same direction that her teacher had. Chelsea had a feeling she knew where she'd be.

When Professor Granger was overly stressed or upset she threw herself into her work. So when Chelsea walked up to her office door and pressed her ear to it, she was not surprised to hear both the scribble of a quill but also her teacher's quiet sobs.

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	11. In Which It Begins

A/N. For the Hermione and Draco playlist, I would like to say number one is "Ever After" by Marianas Trench. Which I think is good for this chapter.

Okay! A big moment is happening here! The moment a lot of you have been waiting for… *wink wink*

Let's just say we earn out "M" rating this chapter. Readers sensitive to sexual content should tread lightly.

…~oOo~…

Chapter Ten: In Which It Begins

"You're a right arse!"

That certainly hadn't been the greeting Draco expected from Adam when he walked across the grounds of Mould-on-the-Wold towards the Quidditch pitch. Draco looked up into the boughs of the tree to find Adam sitting on one of them, glaring down at him.

"Pardon me?" Draco said, giving Adam a look that would hopefully make him rethink his words.

"You heard me, you prat," Adam said, picking at a piece of bark on the branch he sat on. He looked properly hacked off. "You ruined everything." He then chucked the bit of bark down at Draco, hitting him in the head.

"Maybe it would help if knew exactly what I've done to merit this treatment?" Draco growled.

"I laced a blueberry pie with a love potion for you," Adam said angrily. "A perfectly good blueberry pie, gone to waste, because I wanted to _help_ you! And it worked, didn't it? She kissed you, you kissed her – happily ever after, right? _No! _Because you have to go off and marry some blonde bimbo!" He chucked another piece of wood at Draco.

"You get down here," Draco snapped. "_Right now_."

"No," Adam said indignantly. "You're not my father and you're not my teacher. You don't get to tell me what to do."

"You get down from that tree, Adam, or so help me, I will drag you down myself," Draco threatened darkly. "And it will not be pretty. Do you understand me?"

"Bugger off!" Adam shouted. "No one wants you here! Go back to your cushy office at the Ministry and shag that gold-digger you call a fiancée and have a perfectly happy life away from us, but more importantly, away from Miss Hermione! Chelsea was right about you! You're bad news and I'm sick of looking up to you!"

Growling and feeling the rage just build up inside him, Draco shucked off his pinstripe jacket and threw it to the ground. He went to the trunk of the tree, not stopping to read the engraved initials, and found a good foot hole before beginning to climb.

"You're going to regret making me do this," Draco snarled. "I'll push you out of this tree if I have to."

"Go ahead, it'll only prove you're the bad guy everyone thinks you are," Adam replied, casually pulling himself up to the next higher branch. "And you'll only make Miss Hermione cry more if you do, not that she hasn't been crying enough."

Alright, that stung, Draco had to admit. Right below the belt. "Listen, you stupid little prick, you don't know anything."

"I know Miss Hermione loves you," Adam said, his scowl still in place. "And I thought you loved her, but apparently, you're just a self-serving twat."

Oh, Adam was seriously starting to piss Draco off. "For a thirteen-year-old, you have quite the vocabulary." He was finally on a branch near Adam, but not near enough to just grab the boy and throw him out of the tree.

"For an old man, you're quite stupid," Adam snapped back. "Do you know what's been like these past few days? Not only is the school closing, but Miss Hermione is miserable, Chelsea is miserable because Miss Hermione is miserable, and Margot is even more evil than usual because Chelsea is miserable."

"Hermione is miserable?" Draco said, feigning nonchalance.

"Of course she is!" Adam yelled. "At first, it didn't seem like she thought much of your engagement at all, but then we went to class and her face was all wet and her eyes were red. She hasn't smiled since."

Draco leaned against the trunk of the tree as he perched himself on a large bough, thick enough to hold his weight. If Adam thought his professor was miserable, he had no idea.

"You just don't understand," Draco said, feeling defeated.

"I understand just fine! That's just something adults say when they're scared," Adam said firmly. "You need to marry Greengrass because you can't marry Miss Hermione because of the laws you and Snow passed. I read the paper, you know."

"It's so much more than that," Draco told him solemnly.

"Do you love Miss Hermione?" Adam demanded, looking over at Draco. "Honestly. Just tell me. Help me understand."

Draco sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. "Of course I do," he eventually confessed. "She's my Lily."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Adam asked, looking confused.

"It… it's unconditional. It will never change. It's a burden, but a burden I'd love to bear."

Adam stared at Draco wordlessly for a while.

"Someday you'll understand," Draco said, looking over at the boy. "You'll find a girl, she'll drive you mad, and forces beyond your control will make it impossible for you to be together. So you'll move on, you'll find someone else that hopefully you won't mind all that much, and you'll marry her because it's the right thing to do."

"Sounds stupid," Adam said petulantly. "If I loved a girl, nothing would keep me from being with her."

"Oh, really?" Draco said, quirking an eyebrow at him. "Even if keeping away would save her life? Even if being apart protected her?"

"_I'd_ protect her," Adam said with conviction. "You know, everyone says you aren't noble and that you're a liar and selfish. But they're wrong. You're too noble and too selfless."

Draco snorted at the irony. "You have no idea."

"Maybe you should try being selfish again," Adam suggested. "For Miss Hermione."

"I still have to marry Astoria, you know that, right?"

"Yes, well, being a little less noble wouldn't hurt either. She doesn't have to know."

"My God, you are the serpent of Eden, aren't you?" Draco said, shaking his head. "A little devil in a tree telling me to eat the goddamned fruit."

Adam shrugged. "We both know how that story ends, so you might as well."

…

Draco knocked on her office door.

"Who – oh, bugger! Oh, just, uh, my goodness… shit! Just a minute!"

Draco felt his eyebrows jump to his hairline. He tentatively opened the door, peeking through to find Hermione stumbling over herself, having spilt coffee all down her blouse. She was stretching across her desk for the tissue box while keeping her blouse wet blouse away from her skin and muttering oaths to herself.

Draco couldn't help but smirk at the scene.

She was, of course, beautiful. Her wild hair had half-fallen out of whatever badly-done knot or braid she'd put it in that day and she wore a white (not coffee-stained) blouse with a black pencil skirt and blat ballet flats. She was dabbing frantically at the front of her shirt, her brow wrinkling slightly in that adorably frustrated way of hers while she kept swearing to herself even though she never swore in public.

He leaned against the doorframe, waiting for her to be done with her tirade.

When she finally looked up to see who was at the door, she looked genuinely surprised but it faded quickly into a neutral expression that he didn't at all like. It was too detached.

"Malfoy," she said. "What are you doing here?"

Draco decided that it was now or never. He could be honest with her or he could keep avoiding the point. Adam had been right in what he said, that adults told children that they didn't understand when really they themselves were just afraid.

"To see you," Draco said. "A lunch and meeting were cancelled, so I had the time. Told my assistant not to expect me back for a few hours."

"Well, everyone needs a break once in a while," Hermione said, going back to her desk and stacking a bunch of papers to the side.

"What happened to your shirt?" he said, even though he had a pretty good idea.

"The knock startled me and I dropped my coffee," she said, not looking up. "You said you had to see me. What is it that you needed?"

"I didn't have to see you," he said slowly. "I just wanted to."

Hermione didn't have a response for that, just continued to organize her desk. "I have tea with Harry in a few minutes. You're more than welcome to join us." She walked to the door, ready to walk past Draco, but he just stepped in front of her. She stared up at him and her lips pressed into a thin line. "Pardon me," she said blandly.

"Yes?" Draco taunted.

"Move aside," she said pointedly.

"You know, I came to see you and you're not being very welcoming."

Hermione huffed quietly and didn't say anything. "Please move," she finally said.

"Talk to me," Draco said, feeling miffed.

"Isn't that what we're doing?" Hermione quipped.

"No, you're just telling me to move aside while I'm trying to talk to you," Draco said. "And you know that. Come on, Hermione, I –"

"Granger," she cut in sharply. "You call me 'Granger'. Not Hermione. Understand?"

"You're the one who wanted to call me by my first name –"

"Oh, please!" Hermione said, all riled up. "I was under the influence of a love potion!"

"A love potion that only made you say and do what you already wanted to say and do," Draco clarified. "Which means, somewhere deep inside, you want to call me Draco."

"Alright, then," Hermione said, standing as tall as she could. She clenched her teeth. "Move aside, _Draco_."

"I'm sorry," he said abruptly. "I'm sorry about Astoria. I'm sorry about the article. I'm sorry that you found out that way." He wrapped his hands around the top of her arms to hold her still and pull her a little closer. "Does that cover everything? Is there something else I need to apologize for? I'll apologize, I will, just tell me what it will take for you to forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive," Hermione told him, looking him right in the eyes. "You haven't done anything wrong. You're only doing what you have to."

"Then why are you angry with me?"

"I'm not angry with you!"

"Then why are you being so cold?" Draco inquired. "So distant?"

"Because that's how it should be!"

"Fuck how it 'should' be," Draco said fervently. "I'm sick of all the expectations and all the responsibilities and everyone telling me how I should live my life. In the end, when I die, all I'll have been is a bloody puppet, and that makes me mad. I'm the one who has to live this life, because I'm quite sure it's my only one. There is nothing after this, only the now. Do you understand what I'm saying?" He shook her lightly, trying to get something from her besides that cold stare.

"No," Hermione said, looking up at him as her resolve started to crumble and he got a glimpse at the deep sadness in her big brown eyes. "I don't understand what you're saying."

"I'm saying I need you," Draco said bluntly. "Because I want to need you and not because someone's telling me I need you. You are the first decision I've made on my own in almost five years."

And Hermione started to cry. She pressed her hands into her eyes and sniffled, but when Draco moved to hold her, to comfort her, she shoved past him and blew down the corridor towards her bedroom. Draco let her run and felt the hot sting of rejection poke at his chest. But it was followed by a rush of determination.

There wouldn't be any running away this time.

He spun on his feels and followed after her, marching towards her bedroom. She tore at his tie which was feeling too tight around his throat and threw it to the ground, practically running now. He got a few strange looks from a few portraits, but ignored them as he saw his goal only so far ahead. Her door was shut and he halted at it, staring at the grains of wood, not sure what he was supposed to do from there. He was breathing too hard. Draco swallowed and decided that he was done knocking on doors.

Draco twisted the knob and shoved it open and then slammed it shut behind him.

Hermione, shocked, glared at him with her coffee-drenched blouse unbuttoned. "Malfoy –"

Cutting her off, he grabbed her by the shoulders and crushed his mouth to hers. She yanked away for only a moment, but he never let his mouth leave hers and she gave in. Hermione's hands snaked up to his hair, threading his fingers through the blonde and holding on tightly. Draco felt the cooled coffee seeping through her shirt to his and making them both sticky. He could care less.

Their kisses slowly became more frantic, deeper, more desperate. Draco could feel the heat crawling up his chest and to his face and felt the blush on her cheeks when he cradled her face in his hands.

"I need you," he whispered roughly against her mouth. _I will ruin you and everything you care about, but I need you. _

Hermione's hands went to his buttons in a flash and when her hands shook too much to manage the buttoned, she took it by the collar and tore it apart. The buttons went popping everywhere, but after undoing the part of her blouse and throwing it to the floor, he finally – finally – was rewarded with the feel of her skin, her breasts, her stomach pressed to him. The warmth spread so quickly that it almost felt like a small explosion between their bodies. He reached around to undo the clasp on her bra and pulled it away, relishing the absolutely glorious feeling of her small, soft, fragile body against his harder, less forgiving one.

They wrapped around each other like Devil's Snare, never ceasing, ever tightening, almost suffocating. Wrapping his arms around her hips, he lifted her off the ground and brought her to the bed, laying her down gently, cradling her neck as he did. Looking down at her, shirtless with her curls fanned out around her head, she looked like a goddess. She was breathing heavily, her breasts moving with every breath.

Leaning over her, he skimmed his hands down her sides, making her shiver. He settled his hands at her hips and undid the zipper of the skirt. She lifted her hips to let him slowly peel the skirt downward. He wanted to tease her, taunt her, take his time, but at the same time he wanted to be inside her, taking her, making her scream in rapture.

He kissed her stomach, teasingly dipped his tongue into her bellybutton, making her squirm. He wanted to taste all of her so badly. He wanted to keep making her twist and tremble, aching to be touched more. She was so receptive, making a small purring sound like a kitten as he nibbled on her neck and grazed her earlobe with his teeth.

Draco gave a grunt of surprise when suddenly she wrapped her legs around him and used all of her weight against him to roll him onto her back so she was suddenly over him, kissing him with a ferocity that left them both breathless. She was no pillow princess, apparently.

There was a knock on the door.

They both looked to the door, bracing themselves for it to open.

Instead, they heard through the door, "Hermione? You in there?"

"Er, yes, I am," Hermione said, still panting. Draco could feel her rapid heartbeat. She hastily added, "Don't come in!"

"Um…alright?" Harry called, sounding perplexed. "Are you okay? You sound kind of funny."

"I think I'm… I think I'm coming down with something," she called back.

Smirking, Draco couldn't help himself and slid his hand into the back of his panties. He grabbed her deliciously perky bum and pulled her hips to his, grinding his hardness against her core. Her eyes fluttered shut, biting her lip.

"Do you need soup or tea or anything?" Harry called, sounding concerned.

"No! No, no, I'm fine," Hermione yelled back, trying to sound casual and perhaps a little nasally.

"What should I tell the kids about class today?"

"Cancel your classes," Draco whispered in her ear, dragging her panties down off her hips and thighs.

"Er," Hermione said, obviously conflicted. Her duty to the students or what might just end up being the most incredible shag of her life. "Cancel my classes and tell the kids I'm sorry!" she settled on shouting to Harry.

"Alright. You rest up, okay? Feel better!"

They heard his footsteps retreating and Draco pulled her panties the rest of the way off.

"You shouldn't have been doing that," Hermione gasped as Draco's fingers glided up her inner thigh. "Harry was right at the door…"

"I didn't see you trying to stop me," Draco whispered huskily.

Hermione's head dropped to his shoulder as his fingers met her center and she moaned. He took the opportunity to roll her back onto her back and lean back to undo his belt which she readily helped him with. She pushed his trousers down and took his shorts with them. She ran her fingers down his hard stomach and defined chest. He was lean, but firm and wiry, what she'd call a runner's build and wizard boys would call a Seeker's build.

And he was beautiful, each and every piece of him.

She couldn't handle the foreplay any longer. "Draco," she whispered, urging him towards her, squeezing his sides with her thighs. "Please. Please, I need you."

Those were the only words he needed and he adjusted against her, pressing them close. He could feel the heat from her core against his member and, Merlin, he could not wait any longer. But he refused to rush it as he slid into Hermione, letting out a low groan as he did. Hermione gasped at the fullness, her fingernails digging into his shoulder blades. She whimpered delightfully and lifted her hips to meet his, shifting him even deeper. They both held still for a moment after that, each closing their eyes to relish the feeling of their bodies connected, fitted together like puzzle pieces.

It was Hermione who leant up to slant her mouth across his. He readily responded, biting her lip and making her squeal. He smirked and chuckled and rocked into her.

And Draco lost himself in Hermione's eyes as he made love to her.

…

"Favorite childhood memory?"

"Oh, no," Draco said, shaking his head. "We aren't doing the post-coital sentimental chit-chat. I can't stomach that."

Hermione kicked his shin, but didn't move her head from his chest. She rested atop him, their stomachs pressed together, his arm wrapped around her and his fingers tracing lines up and down her spine. She felt heavy and a sleepy, but wasn't going to sacrifice this time with him. It was almost dinner and he would have to leave soon. He'd stayed too long.

"What do you want to talk about, then?" Hermione inquired.

"Nothing, really."

"Tell me _something_."

"Fine," he said, giving up relatively easily. "My favorite childhood memory is probably watching Wood get knocked off his broom during that match our First Year."

She flicked him. "Malfoy!"

"Oh, come on! That was hilarious! I laughed so hard I couldn't breathe."

"Something else. Sometime a bit less Slytherin, maybe?"

"Oh, baby, I'm Slytherin through and through, that won't change anytime soon." He paused, but then curiously added, "How about you?"

"Gryffindor, obviously."

He snorted with amusement. "You know what I mean. Childhood memory. Favorite. Go."

Hermione considered this. "I would say the day I got my Hogwarts letter, but that's such a cliché and also, I didn't exactly know what it was right away, honestly. Mostly I was confused. But my true favorite would have to be… my holiday in France with my parents before our Third Year."

"Really? France?"

"It was just so nice to be with my parents after being away at school and getting to see the beautiful city of Paris for the first time," she said with a shrug.

"France isn't that great," he said.

Hermione scowled. "Your favorite memory was watching Oliver fall out of the sky a fifty yards. You don't get to criticize mine."

"Fair enough," Draco said, smiling to himself. "Actually, I might have one I like more."

"If you say it's when you made my teeth grow to my knees, I might actually hurt you," Hermione threatened.

"Well, that was certainly a good one, but I was going to say the Yule Ball," he said.

"You went with Pansy Parkinson."

"And I was miserable. But do you know who was more miserable than me and that made me feel actually pretty great? Weasley and Potter. Weasley, especially. He was so flustered and red-faced over you and Krum, it was very entertaining."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Some things just didn't change. She reached across to her bedside and looked at the watch she kept there. "It's almost supper. Should you be going?" 

"Are you kicking me out?"

"No," Hermione chuckled, sitting up and rolling off of him. "But you probably have to see Astoria."

Sneering, Draco said, "Must you?"

"Must I what?" Hermione asked, standing and going to her drawers.

Draco watched her closely, his eyes following the slender curve of her back and her thighs and her deliciously perky bum which was sporting bite marks from his own teeth. Call him a Neanderthal, but there was a strange sense of pride seeing little marks like love bites on the woman you loved. Call it a mark of ownership, whatever, he was beyond trying to be delicate about such things – he liked there being physical evidence that she was his and his alone.

"You know, kill my mood by bringing up _her_," Draco said pointedly.

"You mean your fiancée?" Hermione said, pulling a t-shirt over her head.

"Yes, exactly like that," he said with a groan. "Is this going to become a regular thing?"

"My bringing up the fact that you're betrothed? No, not at all," she said sarcastically while slipping on her panties. When she looked over and saw his glare, she sighed and crawled back onto the bed to press a kiss to his slightly-pouting mouth. "I'm sorry," she amended. "I'm not used to this… being the 'other woman'. It goes against everything in my moral code, but I'm just tired of feeling like I have been. All the building pressure, the tension, the crying…"

"I'll agree with you there," Draco said, nodding. "You're hideous when you cry."

Hermione gave him a look. "Can you _pretend_ you like me just a little bit, please?"

Chuckling and breaking into a smile, he took her by the back of her neck to draw her into a deep kiss. He thought to himself, _There's no need for pretending, you beautiful girl. _

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	12. In Which They Discuss Cake

A/N. You all know I love sharing my interests with you guys – my favorite music, books, TV shows… Well, today, for you manga-readers, I want to recommend "Immortal Rain" by Kaori Ozaki! It was the manga that got me into manga and I absolutely fell in love! It's a fantastic adventure, the perfect blend of shonen and shoujo (which basically means girly and boy-ish)! The story is just so engaging and it really blew me away when I first read it. Message me if you're interested in getting the links! If you like it we can fangirl together!

So this chapter has a little bit of plot, a little bit of fluff, but for the most part it's a filler. Things will be happening soon, so I wanted to kind of have a bridge between them.

…~oOo~…

Chapter Eleven: In Which They Discuss Cake

"She's humming," Adam said whispered to Chelsea in class a few days later. Miss Hermione's back was to them as she wrote the word "Grindelwald" on the chalkboard and underlined it and then began writing notes beneath it. As she did this, she hummed very quietly under her breath.

"She's been humming for two days now," Adam said, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "But why?"

Chelsea wasn't sure, but she couldn't help but smile a little at her teacher's noticeably improved mood. It was a relief to see that the Professor wasn't so stressed. While she wasn't sure what had brought about the change, she was hoping it would keep her happy for a while.

"Mr. Malfoy came over the other day," Adam said, seeming to be in the middle of a deep thought. "I wonder if they patched things up."

Chelsea frowned. "Why does it have to be a _boy_ that makes her happy?" she said before she could stop herself. Normally she wouldn't voice her opinion on the seemingly unorthodox nature of her professor and Mr. Malfoy's relationship. She would let Adam jabber and would listen while silently thinking otherwise.

Arching an eyebrow at her, Adam said, "Why _can't_ it be a boy?"

Just shrugging, Chelsea went back to copying the details from the chalkboard. Adam was obviously not thrilled with being ignored, but when their professor turned around and started her lecture, he knew it was time to stop talking. Making sure Miss Hermione wasn't looking his was, he used a spare bit of parchment to scribble a note for Chelsea. Instead of reading it, though, she ripped it in half and put it in her pocket.

He wondered what exactly had put her in such a foul mood.

…~oOo~…

"What flavor of cake would you prefer?"

Draco hated lunches where Astoria just popped by his office. He had hoped to chase her off with the excuse that he had work to do and didn't have to time to go out, but she had responded by bringing food to him. It was meant to be a romantic gesture, he supposed, but it was just an annoyance. He had politely kissed her when he arrived and focused solely on his paperwork while she went on about wedding details.

Sighing inwardly, Draco said, "It doesn't matter to me."

"Are you sure? Your mother said you had quite the sweet tooth as a little boy," Astoria said, too sweetly. If he was being frank, Astoria was a sweet, good creature who simply ran in the wrong circles. She was often at Snow's parties, often spoke of the superiorities of pureblood, and before her engagement to Draco, was known to indulge in what the younger Death Eaters had to offer physically. She had a naughty streak, but at her core was a nice girl.

Which, honestly, annoyed Draco more than anything.

"I said it doesn't matter," Draco said dismissively, never looking up from some bill about vampires. There was so much hype about the vampires lately and there were a thousand and one ideas, a dozen propositions for new laws, and none of them really solved the problem. And there were many problems to be solved. Snow had left this matter up to him and it was giving him a damned headache.

"We'll go to a tasting and decide then," Astoria said, writing something on her notepad. "What about the entrees?"

"I don't care about the food," Draco said snappishly.

"I was thinking salmon. Do you like fish?"

Putting down his quill and taking a very deep breath, Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. "I am running out of ways to express how little I care, Astoria."

"Well, you should!" Astoria snapped, her voice getting even higher pitched. "It will be our wedding day and it should be absolutely perfect!"

"A perfect day as a prelude to an imperfect marriage? Sounds redundant to me."

"Every marriage is imperfect. That doesn't mean our wedding day and our lives can't be happy."

"Happiness has nothing to do with it," Draco said firmly. "This is a business merger, nothing more. I don't know what I've ever said to make you believe otherwise, but I can only apologize for the miscommunication. It all boils down to this: Your father is in debt to my father – what for, I'm not sure – but you are a bartering chip meant to be thrown my way to prevent me from doing something monumentally stupid or possibly scandalous because my father doesn't trust me to behave."

Astoria's lower lip was wobbling and her eyes were angry. "You've got it all wrong," she hissed. "My father owes you nothing. It's Lucius who is indebted to _my_ father."

Draco blinked. He certainly hadn't been expecting that. "What do you know of it?"

"Everything, of course," Astoria said with attitude. "My father knows Lucius ran before the end of the Battle of Hogwarts. Father has had that little tidbit of treachery in his back pocket for a while now but once you were made Undersecretary, Father saw how valuable it would be to have – how did you put it? – a _merger _with a powerful political figure. So Father told Lucius that if he didn't see to it that his son – you – chose me as his bride, he would be going to the Dark Lord with the information."

On the outside, Draco remained cool and collected. On the inside, he was plotting his father's murder. Draco had just assumed when his father had said he had a deal with Greengrass that it would work in Lucius's favor and not the other way around. But Lucius was the one who needed this to work.

Draco's wedding had just become a live or die situation.

"You had no clue then," Astoria said, rolling her eyes. "Typical Lucius."

A wave of rage swept up inside Draco said he said, "My father is twice the man yours will ever be. Blackmail is low, even for Garrick Greengrass. Lucky for him, though, he will have his wedding, but he's dreaming if he thinks he'll have any political weight after this." He stood up and walked around the side of his desk towards the door. "You tell your father that blackmail is punishable by imprisonment and, as he knows, I am a very powerful man. It is his word against mine and he should not forget that next time he thinks about toying with my father. Now, out." He swung the door open and gestured for her to leave.

Looking vaguely hurt, but mostly angry, Astoria rose from her chair with her chin in the air and made her way out. She stopped in the threshold, though, and turned to look Draco in the eyes. "You said you never did anything to make me believe we could be happy. But you're wrong. The paper-folded birds…" Her voice trailed off as she saw his eyes harden.

Stiffly, he said, "They weren't for you."

Astoria closed her eyes for a moment, pushing back the tears, and walked out.

Slamming the door shut after he saw Astoria leave the office – and his assistant and other secretaries stare as she marched out – Draco went to his desk and angrily shredded the stupidest proposal for the vampire situation before writing his father a letter. He ended up shredding that too. Before he knew it, he was stomping out of his office towards the nearest Floo and he was on his way to Hogwarts.

…~oOo~…

"Are you going to talk about it or just brood?"

"I hadn't realized I was 'brooding'," Draco said, his nose wrinkling.

"You're brooding so loudly that I can't even close my eyes," Hermione said with a smirk, curled up on her side and facing Draco while he'd been staring at the ceiling, lying like a plank of wood flat on his back.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking over at her. Looking at her made it worse, though. Made everything rise to the surface, everything he was feeling and suppressing. She was so pretty, so soft. All he wanted was to bury his face in those wild curls – she said sex hair didn't suit her, but he kind of liked it – and forget about everything else. "Should I get going so you can sleep?" he offered, reaching out to run his knuckles down her flushed cheek.

"No, you should get going because you have a life outside these four walls," Hermione said, biting her lip. "Don't you have people to see? Meetings? A business dinner?"

Draco shook his head. "I put my father in his place today, so he won't want to see me tonight. Nor would my mother. I reported to McGonagall. I angered Astoria, so she'll be giving me the silent treatment for a few days and Snow and I had breakfast. Everyone with any weight in my life I've already dealt with."

"What happened with your father?" Hermione asked, easily picking up on the change in his tone.

He said nothing for a moment. "He's a very stupid man," he finally settled on.

"I could have told you that."

"Cowardly," he added. "Manipulative. Selfish."

"And you aren't manipulative?"

"I am," Draco admitted. "But I'm not a coward. Not anymore." He looked over at her again and pointedly glanced at the space of mattress between them. "You're awfully far away." He curled his hand around her bare hip and pulled her close. She easily gave into the embrace, resting her hand around the back of his neck. Her fingers played with the hair on his nape.

"So… are you going to talk about it?" she asked again.

"I'm not sure I want to."

"When you saw your father, is that how this happened?" she asked, touching her fingertips lightly to the split in his lip. "You said you got in a scuffle with another Death Eater, but I don't think I believe you."

"He looks worse than I do," Draco said on a sigh, his tongue probing the split spot on his mouth. "He's getting old. His reflexes aren't what they used to be. Then again, he always did go for the face – he knew how vain I was. Probably because he too is vain. A pretty face can be a curse in itself."

"You are vain," Hermione said, sounding slightly amused. "Did your father hit you a lot growing up?"

"Not really," Draco said. "The occasional smack in the mouth, usually, or a slap over the head. Sometimes he'd hit my calves with that godforsaken walking stick. Grab my arm and squeeze tightly. We never really got into real rows until I was older."

"That isn't right," Hermione said firmly.

"Didn't your parents discipline you?"

"Not like that. I'd been known to get soap in my mouth or be spanked. For serious offense, a wooden spoon came out."

"Wooden spoon?" Draco inquired, the concept sounding foreign. "What on earth did they do to you with a wood spoon?"

Hermione chuckled. "Mostly hit me on my bum."

"Muggles are strange," Draco said, his eyes narrowing in thought. "A spoon… Very strange, indeed. And the soap in the mouth?"

"For when I swore or talked back," Hermione explained. "To wash out my mouth. Get it?"

"Ahh," Draco said in understanding. "That is clever."

"I went through a bit of a naughty streak when I was about five. When they put soap in my mouth, I used to taunt them and say it tasted good," she shook her head, laughing to herself. "I was such a brat."

"Hermione Granger with a naughty streak?" Draco said in mock awe. "I cannot imagine."

"I did bad things," Hermione said defensively. "All through school I was breaking rules."

"For the _greater good_," he said cynically. "It hardly counts if you have unselfish motives."

"It doesn't count that I set Professor Snape's robes on fire?" Hermione challenged.

"No," Draco said in disbelief. "There is no way that was you."

"It was too!" Hermione insisted, sitting up a bit to look him in the eyes. "I thought he was hexing Harry's broomstick, so I set his robes on fire to break his concentration!"

"Wow," Draco said. "Do I really even know you?"

"I also stole from his private stores. I robbed a bank and I stole a dragon. I can be bad," she said determinedly.

"Hmm," Draco mused. "You're right, Miss Granger. You _are_ quite naughty. I think… you need a spanking." 

It dawned on Hermione exactly what he meant as he playfully flipped her onto her stomach and she squealed, barely withholding her laughter as she said, "Draco, you better not – ahh!" And she could barely breathe from how hard she was laughing.

Draco was chuckling himself and only swatted her twice before bending down to kiss the freckle right between her shoulder blades.

"You are lovely," Draco murmured as he admired the smooth, pale curve of her back and her now-rosy bottom. The light spattering of freckles on her shoulders, the barely-there dimples on her lower back, even the tiny scar at her waist that he vaguely wondered how she got.

"I would tell you the same if you didn't already know it," Hermione said. He wasn't wrong in what he said earlier – he really did have a pretty face. But maybe pretty was the wrong word. His features were too sharp and precise to be pretty. A jawline that could cut glass. A very aristocratic, straight nose. His eyes were a sharp grey that glinted silver.

"Are you really going to stay?" Hermione asked, not quite believing it. Their relationship, if one could call it that, was still very new. Raw. Only a week had passed and on each day they'd only stolen an hour together. Most of that hour being spent in absolute bliss, of course. It seemed risky for him to stay. "What if someone goes looking for you at your apartment?"

"If they need me, I'll be summoned," he said, tapping his forearm.

"And Margot? She can't be left alone," Hermione said.

"Before I found you, I saw her and told her she could stay here for the evening," Draco told her. "She was happy to have a sleepover with Chelsea, apparently."

"So…you're sure?" Hermione said, looking nervous.

"Well, unless you'd like me to leave," Draco said slowly. "I won't say it won't hurt my pride, but I will go if you like."

"No! Not at all, it's just… well… it's kind of hard to explain."

"What?" Draco said, quirking an eyebrow at her.

"I've never spent the night with anyone," Hermione said quietly. "I mean, besides from camping in close quarters with two boys."

"Didn't you have a stint with Weasley?"

Hermione blushed and scowled. "Never spent the night. We were always too busy. We had things to do in the morning usually or we didn't want his mother barging in to wake him for breakfast only to find me there with him."

"Those are lousy excuses."

"I suppose. But the point remains. I've never spent the night with someone, so how am I to know if I snore or not? Or if I move or kick or talk? What if I can't sleep-cuddle correctly and what if I accidently roll over and suffocate you?"

Wide-eyed, Draco said, "I cannot believe those are the things you're worrying about."

"I'm a worrier, it's what I do," Hermione grumbled.

"Suffocate me? Honestly?"

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"I may have a solution," Draco said. "We could just, you know, _not_ sleep."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione said, "As magnificent as you are in bed, Draco, I doubt you could go literally _all_ night."

"You wound me, woman."

"You think a lot of yourself if you think you have the stamina for eight hours of lovemaking," Hermione said, chuckling. "I certainly couldn't."

"We never know if we don't try. What happened to the Hermione Granger who needs to collect data and do research before coming to a conclusion?"

Hermione considered this and then wrapped her arms around his neck. "You make a very good point."

…

As it found out, after a few rounds, exhaustion won and the lovers enjoyed the heavy fog of sleepiness and satisfaction. Lying half on his chest, Hermione's cheek rested on his collarbone while he idly drew shapes and patterns on her back with his fingertips, the motions getting slower and lazier as time passed. He breathed heavily as if he was dreaming already, but his hands still moved.

"I've found perfection," he said, his words mumbled and lazy.

"Pretty damned close," Hermione whispered, resting her hand over his, the one that'd been resting on his stomach. "Go to sleep. You're exhausted."

"I don't want to," Draco said, but it lacked conviction.

"Why is that?"

"If I sleep, I'll have to wake up."

"That's usually how it goes, yes," Hermione said, smirking in amusement.

"If I wake up, I'll have to leave," he explained, his words becoming more run together. "A new day means… leaving this…perfection."

"Shh," Hermione soothed, nuzzling him gently. "Sleep, Draco."

"I told you, I can't…"

"You can. Just think of the sea."

"Mmm? Sea?"

"Mhmm," Hermione answered in her own tiredness. "A beach. Crystal blue water. The tropics. Somewhere like…"

"Fiji," Draco supplied, a small smile playing at his mouth while his eyes remained closed.

"Yes, imagine a beach Fiji. Can you see it?" Hermione said, seeing the white sand clear as day behind her eyelids.

"I'll…take you to Fiji," Draco promised. "And we won't have to imagine it anymore." A few moments later, his breathing deepened and she was sure he was asleep. She followed close behind.

…~oOo~…

"Good morning, Herm…" Harry's voice trailed off as he entered the kitchen to not find Hermione brewing a fresh pot of coffee like he'd thought. Standing at the counter by the coffee pot with a piece of toast and a newspaper was none other than Draco Malfoy. "Malfoy," Harry said in surprise.

"Potter," Draco answered glibly.

"You're here awfully early," Harry said suspiciously. "Do you need anything? Looking for Hermione?"

"What I need is coffee," Draco said. "And Hermione is sleeping. I'll be leaving soon."

Harry took in Draco's appearance. His white Oxford shirt was wrinkled and his pants had folding creases in them as if they'd sat on top of a dresser all night. He was unshaven, his jaw darkened by blonde stubble, and his hair was obviously brushed by fingers instead of a comb.

"Did you…stay over?" Harry said, putting it all together slowly.

"No, Potter, I always go into work this untidy," Draco said curtly, giving him a blunt look before pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Of course I stayed over. Have you got a problem with that?"

"Not really," Harry said, confused by the entire situation. "A little, perhaps, maybe…"

"Make up your mind, Potter," Draco said, rolling his eyes and eating the last of his toast. "Care or not, it doesn't matter." He looked at his watch. "I should be leaving soon."

"You know…" Harry said, seeming to be putting the pieces of a puzzle in place. "You've been here a lot this past week or so… What's that about?"

Neither of them heard the padding of bare feet enter the room. But they both looked over when Hermione yawned. She was wearing a pair of cotton shorts and a camisole. Her hair was everywhere and her scratching the back of her head didn't help it. She still looked half asleep.

"Good morning, Draco. Harry," she said around a second yawn. She walked over to the coffee but stopped to straighten Draco's collar. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"You need your sleep," Draco said simply, adjusting the falling strap of her camisole before Potter could catch an eyeful.

"And you don't?" Hermione shot back. "Snow is out of the country, you could have easily just gone in a little late." She reached up on her toes for a mug out of the cabinet and not quite making it so Draco snatched it effortlessly off the shelf and handed it to her.

"My secretary has this idea in her head that when I'm not around she can play Supreme Undersecretary," Draco said dryly. "The Ministry would be in shambles if I went in ten minutes late."

"Maybe you should hire a new secretary, then, one with less mutinous tendencies."

"But she's finally mastered fixing my coffee exactly how I like it," Draco said.

"Poor boy," Hermione mockingly lamented. "I suppose you'll have to suffer then."

Then, on an epiphany, Harry exclaimed after just watching on, "Sweet Merlin, you two are sleeping together!" He looked like he'd been hit across the face with a canoe paddle.

"Now, Potter," Draco said, "I know for a fact not all Gryffindors are idiots, so you can't use your House as an excuse for your obliviousness this time."

"It isn't as if we've been hiding it," Hermione said on a sigh. "Except for from the kids, of course. It wouldn't be appropriate."

"I'm going to vomit," Harry said, feeling a gag coming on. He braced himself on the kitchen table and waited for the nausea to subside.

"And that's my cue to leave," Draco said, bending to the press a kiss to Hermione's cheek. "Have fun cleaning up Potter Puke."

"Thanks," Hermione said sarcastically as she watching him leave out the back door. Turning her attention to Harry, she said, "Don't make a big deal out of this."

"But… but it is a big deal!"

"Not if you don't make it one," Hermione said, rubbing her eyes while she fetched the sugar bowl. "Please, Harry, every other adult in the house has worked it out already. Neville, Luna, even Krum."

"No wonder Krum's been in such a foul mood," Harry reflected.

"It took Fred and George two minutes at the meeting two days ago to put it together," Hermione told him. "I'm a little disappointed it's taken you so long, Harry."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry demanded.

"It's private," Hermione said stiffly.

"Oh, yes, _that's_ why," Harry said, figuring it out for himself. "Because of what I told you in the library a few weeks back."

"Harry, you knew how I felt about him then," Hermione said. "Is this really that big of a shock?"

"Yes! I thought you'd come to your senses," Harry said, throwing himself onto a stool and huffing. "I thought it'd at the very least take a bit longer." He rubbed his eyelids with his thumb and forefinger.

After a stretch of silence, Hermione said, "If you want an apology, I won't say I'm sorry. Not for this."

"I don't want you to say sorry," Harry groaned. "I want you to stay away from him."

"Don't start that," Hermione said, warning in her tone. "I am a big girl, now, Harry. You may have missed three years, but they still happened and I've grown up. I've learned a lot about myself and this world we live in. Trust me, Harry. Please, just…trust me."

With a deep breath, Harry looked up at Hermione in defeat and said, "Always."

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	13. In Which the Rat Returns Home

A/N. Glad you all liked the bit of fluff last chapter! This chapter we're going to be getting a little dark again.

I tried changing my profile picture to a photo of my baby boy where a turkey hat I crocheted for him for Thanksgiving, but so far it hasn't worked. Hopefully by the time this is posted it will have been fixed.

…~oOo~…

Chapter Twelve: In Which the Rat Returns Home

It was a Saturday and like most Saturdays it was spent by bringing the students to the Burrow to enjoy some fresh air and help Molly around the house and in the garden. It also meant that Hermione got the chance to steal some time with Teddy. His fourth birthday was fast approaching and he was a bit of a menace – and Hermione was sure it had something to do with spending so much time with the twins.

Andromeda had gone back into hiding six months before. She wasn't blacklisted like the rest, but afraid of the rumors of Bellatrix still being alive and her little sister Narcissa's influence. She had good reason to be afraid. But once she started going out in public again, she felt the same eyes watching her as in France. Hermione wasn't sure whether to believe Andromeda, but that largely had to do with he just leaving Teddy behind whenever it suited her.

Out on the very edges of the Weasley's property, a few yards away from the limits of the Fidelius Charm, Hermione walked with Teddy alongside the creak. He was getting so heavy, but after he complained of being tired she hefted him up into her arms and felt a maternal pang in her chest as he started playing with her hair just as he always did.

"Have you been having fun with Molly?"

"Mhmm," he murmured. Then he took a deep breath and started, "'Red and George come to play and they give me toys and they make Molly mad and…" and he rambled off into that breathy little boy language that didn't always make any sense.

"'Mione?" he eventually said sleepily.

"Yes, darling?" Hermione said, rubbing his back, knowing it was heading towards his naptime.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Teddy," Hermione said, giving him a squeeze.

"'Mione?"

"Yes, love?"

"Ever'one's running, over there…" he said, not quite pronouncing his r's. But she turned to where he was pointing and saw that everyone closer to the house was running around frantically. There was definite panic and she heard the muted sounds of them calling out.

"Hold on tight, Teddy," she said as she ran across the property, through the bushes and around the haystacks to the yard. It wasn't easy with a little boy, but when Fred saw her and looked relieved she knew they'd been looking for her.

"What's wrong?" she asked urgently.

"Someone's crossed the Fidelius's limits," Fred reported, looking grave. "Someone without the clearance. We're getting everyone in the cellar."

…

"Come along, hurry now, quick like bunnies, loves," Molly was rambling, pushing everyone towards the emergency cellar. They'd dug it before they rebuilt the Burrow and hidden the hatch under a cupboard and a Disillusionment charm on top of it. All of the kids were being pushed down below it.

"Where's the Professor?" Chelsea whispered to Adam, pressed to a dusty corner of the unfinished cellar. The floor was dirt and it was chilly beneath the earth. There were almost twenty of them down there, all of them whispering. Neville was hushing them all while Luna held one of the scared first years who was crying.

Chelsea waded through the people to tug on Mr. Neville's sweater sleeve and whispered, "Where's the Professor?"

"Hermione will be down here soon, I'm sure," he replied, but his voice was shaky even to her ears.

She looked up at their flying instructor Krum sealed the hatch and said, "But… she can't be found."

"I know," Neville whispered, his face pale even in the dim light of glowing wands. "She's blacklisted."

"She'll be alright," Mr. Potter added, appearing behind Chelsea and resting a hand on her shoulder. "She always is."

…

Fred was shoving Hermione towards a closet in the upstairs. Teddy had already fallen asleep in her arms, the need for a nap winning over all the excitement. "The hatch has already been sealed," Fred said, "we wouldn't be able to open it then close it in time. Whoever's on the property is getting close."

"But I was close to the edge of the Charm," Hermione whispered. "I didn't see anyone."

"The circumference is huge," Fred told her. "They could have entered from another side. Now, just don't make a peep and ward the door the best you can." He nudged her gently into the small, dark space and closed it behind him.

In the darkness, Hermione felt around for the doorknob and the pointed her wand at it, casting every locking charm she knew. "_Salvio Hexia_," she whispered shakily, strengthening the wards she cast.

Leaning back against the wall, she closed her eyes and forced her breathing to steady itself, holding Teddy even tighter. She kissed his head and prayed that whoever had shown up wasn't dangerous. That this all was for nothing. She prayed that it was a misunderstanding and a rabbit had burrowed under the barrier and accidentally set it off.

But something told her that wasn't the case. She had a terrible sinking feeling that whoever had stepped through the Homenum Revelio was not their friends and not a rabbit.

…

"…business with the Senior Undersecretary, so if you don't mind –"

"No, you can't go in there!" Draco's secretary exclaimed indignantly, but his office door was already swinging open and in walked a weary-looking Weasley twin.

"I'll call security, sir," Draco's secretary told him.

"Don't worry about it, Rebecca," Draco said dismissively. "Give Mr. Weasley and I some privacy. Close the door on your way out."

With a sniff, Rebecca walked out, stamping her heels a bit and slammed the door behind her.

"What's going on?" Draco demanded, seeing the G stitched into the pocket of his polo.

"The Burrow," George said, his breathing heavy as if he'd been running. "Someone's broken the barrier. Someone without authorization. Is there a raid scheduled for today? Any Aurors sent out last minute?"

"No," Draco said, his heart pounding. "No one in the Ministry was sent to the Burrow, I would have sent word myself."

"Are you sure?" George stressed.

"Positive," Draco said shortly. "Every authorized raid is approved by me and then Snow. Nothing has come through for the Burrow."

"Authorized, you say," George said. "Could an Auror go rogue?"

"Even so, he wouldn't know how to get through the barrier, let alone the Fidelius," Draco told him. "It's someone we know or someone who knows the Burrow and its soft spots. In other words, no friend of ours. But it's only your mother and father there, right?"

"No," George said, his eyes wide with worry. "All the kids from the Academy were over for the afternoon. Teddy, too, since my Mum's been taking care of him." He paused. "How about the Death Eaters?"

"No raids," Draco said. "Unless someone's taken matters into their own hands, but the Dark Lord had a tight leash on all of us. He would know if anyone was acting outside his orders. But still… Follow me." Without grabbing his coat he marched out of his office, not even stopping as he said in passing to Rebecca, "Cancel my afternoon."

"But, sir –"

"Just do it, Rebecca!" he called over his shoulder as he stepped out of his personal offices and into the buzzing Ministry. George followed close by his side as they hastened towards the Floos. "We'll flew to my flat and then to the Burrow. The Floo network is monitored too closely these days," he murmured quietly to George.

And then it hit him, hard. Draco knew exactly who had gotten onto the Burrow property and it was someone he had hoped was dead.

…

It felt as if hours had passed with Hermione pressing her ear to the wall, listening for any kind of commotion. She had prevented anyone from hearing in the closet, but left her ability to hear out. So far there were only footsteps, running water from the kitchen sink, and not much else. No one had come to tell her anything, though, which left a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

When Teddy started waking up, she had hushed him gently.

"Why are we in here, 'Mione? It's dark," Teddy said quietly, obviously afraid.

"Don't worry, baby, we're just… playing hide and seek with Freddy and Georgie," she said. "But you must stay very silent, alright, love?" As brilliant as a Muffliato was, if the noise got too loud it only muffled the noise to a certain point.

"Okay, 'Mione," he said, resting his cheek on her collarbone.

"Go back to sleep, Teddy."

"Sing?" he said.

"Okay," she complied and began humming, hoping there would be news soon.

The silence was almost too much once Teddy fell asleep so she continued humming for her own sanity. Until, of course, through the wall, she heard Molly's scream and Arthur's shout. Hermione's entire body tensed. But then she heard the voices talking, not yelling, but Molly's voice was higher pitched than usual. She couldn't make out the words and couldn't identify the new voice, but needed to know if she had to get Teddy out of the house immediately or if it was all clear.

With a deep breath and with her wand ready, a hex already on her lips just in case, she opened the closet. The sounds downstairs became clearer. She now knew the visitor's voice was raspy and low and stammering, but his words were garbled and slurred as if he were drunk or new to the English language.

"…I told you, he is not here!" Molly said, her voice pitched so high Hermione thought only dogs should be able to hear her. "So leave now, before we bring you to the Ministry!"

So it wasn't a Ministry official, but instead someone the Ministry was looking for. Hermione crept slowly, careful of the floorboards she knew were lose, to the top of the stairs, stretching her neck to see down into the kitchen area.

Hermione could only see the back of the short, hunched over man. But his hair was long and greasy, a dull blonde matted with dirt. His robes were in pieces, patched poorly with different scraps of handkerchiefs and flannels. What gave Hermione pause was that his left arm was missing and the other…

His other hand, clutching a wand Hermione thought was familiar, was made of silver.

Stifling a gasp, Hermione's heart ricocheted.

Peter Pettigrew.

And Hermione almost screamed when a hand came from nowhere and covered her mouth. Her head whipped to see who it was and sighed in relief to see Draco, holding a finger to his mouth and motion for her to remain silent. George was right behind him, his wand drawn and ready.

"I know he's h-here!" Pettigrew snarled before letting loose a dry, wheezing cough. "I saw it in –" more coughing, "– the bitch in New Zealand's mind!"

New Zealand. That was where Andromeda was hiding.

"We haven't got a clue what you're on about," Fred said with conviction. "We mean it. Leave, _Wormtail_."

"Now, now, Fred," Arthur said, ever the calm one. "Peter, if maybe you told us who you were looking for, we could…help."

"The b-b-boy!" Pettigrew stuttered fiercely. "Lupin's boy!"

"I wasn't aware Lupin had a son," Arthur said calmly.

"_Of course you know he had a son, he's been living under your roof_!"

Draco pointed for Hermione to return to the closet, but she shook his head. He rolled his eyes and then leaned down to her ear and said quietly, "Then get Teddy out, _now_. There's an emergency Floo in the attic."

"He's one man, we can take him," George weighed in, his voice low.

"He is one man unhinged who murdered a dozen Muggles with a single curse," Draco hissed to George. "He is more dangerous than ever before. I will take care of him. Hermione, go. Take Teddy away."

"All of the children are in the cellar," Hermione said.

Behind their voices, downstairs in the kitchen, Pettigrew was rasping, "_Don't lie to me, woman_! The blood-traitor bitch had it in her head – this is where she left him! You tell me or I'll cut it out of your head too!"

"You have three wands on you, Pettigrew," Fred said strongly. "You wouldn't get the words out of your mouth before we blew you to bits."

Pettigrew's laugh was enough to make Hermione's bones shake. "I've done it before and I can do it again, taking care of all you… it would be easy." He hacked some more, seeming to choke on his own words.

Draco went past Hermione carefully, very light on his feet, and gave her a pointed look, gesturing for her to start towards the attic. George went behind him, knowing which steps to skip and not to hold the rickety railing.

But Draco didn't know not to rest his foot too heavily on the last step. It let out a loud creak and Hermione instinctively moved back, but she saw Pettigrew whip around to see Draco creeping towards the kitchen.

"You!" Pettigrew yelped.

"_Expelliarmus!" _Draco roared, Pettigrew's wand flying from his silver hand. Draco swept towards him, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and slamming him into the wall. He dug his wand into Pettigrew's throbbing throat.

Hermione ran to set Teddy down in Percy's old bedroom, putting the blanket around him. She warded his door but then ran down the stairs to see what was happening, ready to defend the staircase if need be.

"…want with him?" Draco growled, slamming Pettigrew into the wall once more, jarring him.

"The boy…" Pettigrew whimpered, giving a cough in Draco's face that Draco swiped away with the back of his hand disgustedly. "He's the key. The Prophecy…"

"The Prophecy was about Potter," Draco said, sounding furious but bored with the topic.

"Perhaps not…" Pettigrew wheezed. "His parents… Remus and… the Tonks girl… thrice defied the Dark Lord, did they not?"

Draco had nothing to say to that.

"Harry… Harry Potter did not vanquish him…" Pettigrew answered. "Perhaps… we were wrong all along…"

"That is because Potter lost," Draco spat. "The Prophecy could have ended one of two ways. And it did. With the Dark Lord's victory and Good's defeat. Your chasing shadows, Wormtail, and making a right fool of yourself by doing so. If you think kidnapping a boy who has nothing to do with him after years of running – even removing your arm to prevent being found through your Mark – will make our lord accept you into his good graces again, you are even more delusional than I could have imagined."

"Maybe," Pettigrew sniveled and sneered, "but I'm sure he'd be more forgiving if I delivered him a traitor." He spat on Draco and Draco barely winced, seeming to have expected it.

"I don't see how that will happen since you're unarmed and we've got you cornered," Draco seethed. "You aren't leaving this house alive, Pettigrew."

Shaking his head vehemently, Pettigrew stammered, "N-no, the Weasleys are good people! They wouldn't kill an unarmed man!"

"We can wipe his memory," Arthur said. "We can even bring him to the Ministry."

"No," Draco growled. "This rat lived under your roof for twelve years as your family pet and he was the one following Andromeda since the war's end. As long as he is alive, he will never give up." Pettigrew was wriggling, so Draco wrapped a hand around his neck and pinned him harder against the wall. Pettigrew's eyes bugged at being choked. "I will give you a quicker death than the Dark Lord would have, I can promise you that, at least."

"Death at my m-master's hands would be an honor," Pettigrew said, swallowing between words. He was shaking, twitching under Draco's hold and glare.

"Draco…" Hermione said slowly, tentatively.

"Hermione, stay out of this," Draco said coldly, his eyes never leaving Pettigrew's.

"Draco, he's obviously deranged and malnourished," Hermione reasoned. "I hate him as much as you, I'd love to see him dead, Merlin forgive me, but he isn't armed and it wouldn't be right. Mr. Weasley is right, we should erase his memories –"

"_I said stay out of this_!" Draco bellowed, tearing his eyes away from Pettigrew to look at Hermione.

Ever the opportunist, Pettigrew snatched Draco's wand hand with his silver one and attempted to rip the wand away. The struggle began, each having a grip on the wand, fighting against one another, Pettigrew throwing out curses that flung from the tip of the wand haphazardly and flew at the kitchen. With a clamber, pots fell from their rack and George ducked, narrowly missing a nasty one. Molly hit the floor and Arthur used a stool as a barrier, which promptly exploded into pieces when a hex hit it. He then threw a silvery shield to protect both him and his wife as the curses soared.

Pettigrew and Draco shoved each other around the room in their struggle, but when Draco saw the chance, he grabbed a large knife lying on a cutting board to thrust into Pettigrew's side. With a howl of pain, Pettigrew released the wand before being promptly forced to his knees by Draco.

"Any last words?" Draco said, grabbing him by the hair and holding his wand to the back of his skull.

"You won't be able to hide forever," Pettigrew said loudly, his voice shaking and his eyes blinking as tears welled up and spilt over. "The Dark Lord will find you all and when he does –"

And Pettigrew's threats died with him. The demented, tortured light in his eyes faded instantly as the green curse made contact with his skull. Draco had barely muttered the words, but it did the job. Peter Pettigrew slumped to the floor in a heavy heap.

The room was silent. They all stared at the corpse, none of them knowing what to say.

Until Draco finally spoke. "I'll take care of the body," was all he said, his voice and eyes oddly detached.

Hermione swallowed and said, "Draco –"

"Don't say it, Hermione. He needed to die. He would have chased us to the ends of the earth if he wasn't stopped." Draco dragged his forearm across his cheek where Pettigrew had spat on him. "I only did what the Dark Lord would have done much more cruelly. It was a mercy killing."

"That doesn't make _executing_ him –"

"_Right_? Is that what you were going to say, that it doesn't make it _right_?" he filled in cuttingly, glaring at Hermione in a way that sliced through her. "Noble? Honorable? All of you Gryffindors may be above killing an unarmed man, but _I'm not_. I am no Gryffindor and I am not above _anything_ if it means protecting _you_." His nostrils flaring as he shook with what was either crashing adrenaline or rage, Draco levitated Pettigrew's body towards the back door.

Moments later they all saw the fire through the window and smelt the meaty, acrid scent of burning flesh.

Rubbing away the moisture in her eyes, Hermione looked up at all the stunned faces around her. Fred, George, Molly, and Arthur all stared at her, aghast. They were shaken and unsure of how to proceed.

"Everything is safe now," Hermione said, forcing back sobs. "I'll go check on Teddy. We'll… let the children know everything and everyone is okay."

As Hermione dragged herself up the stairs and to Percy's room, she didn't know why she was crying. But she did fall down onto the mattress beside Teddy and hold him tightly while she let every single last tear run out.

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	14. In Which They Honor the Tonks Family

A/N. Was the last chapter THAT bad? There was a drastic drop in reviews and now I'm kind of sad… Let me know how you feel about the direction of the story.

A new song for the Draco and Hermione playlist: In Her Eyes by Josh Groban. Listen to it on youtube, it's absolutely beautiful.

Also, we see Ginny this chapter! I know, I know, I've been ignoring her… but she is my least-favorite Harry Potter character of all time and sometimes I like to pretend like she doesn't exist.

…~oOo~…

Chapter Thirteen: In Which They Honor the Tonks Family

They sat around the kitchen table with mugs of coffee while all the students returned to the yard to play, but the spirit had gone out of them. They were too anxious because of what happened. Out the window, Hermione could see the troublemakers – Margot, Chelsea, Yvette, and Adam – sitting in a circle, chatting amongst themselves. A lot of the students did similar things, breaking off into groups to talk.

Around the table was Harry, the twins, Neville and Luna, Molly and Arthur, and Hermione. They were all waiting for something to say something when they heard the Floo flare and they all tensed, but relaxed when a loud, familiar voice started calling out, "Mum! Dad! You will not believe what I saw in Diagon…" her voice trailed off as she entered the kitchen saw everyone's solemn looks.

"Who died?" Ginny asked, only half-joking.

Shaking her head, Hermione said, "None of the Order."

"Then what's with the long faces?" she asked, slipping onto the bench beside Hermione.

"We found Pettigrew," Fred said.

"Well, Pettigrew found us," George added.

"It wasn't pretty," Fred told her.

George shook his head in agreement.

"Oh, God," Ginny said, her eyes wide.

A loud creak from the stairs made them all jump but when they looked it was just young Teddy, scrubbing at his eyes, having woken from his nap. He went right up to Hermione and said sleepily, "Did you lose?"

"Hmm?" Hermione asked, confused.

"Hide and seek," Teddy said. "You look sad. Did you lose? Did Freddy and George win?"

Hermione snorted softly, remembering her white lie. She nodded and Teddy stretched up to kiss her cheek. "It's okay," he told her, patting her hand.

"Well, of course we won," George jumped in, straightening up and giving the boy his best smile.

"Of course," Fred agreed. "We're only the best Finders in the entire world!"

"Come on, Teddy," George said, standing up and swooping down to pick up the boy and then launch him into the air, catching him smoothly again. "Let's play again! We'll play in the sitting room! This time, you can find us, how about that?"

Teddy squealed in excitement and nodded vigorously. Once he was on the ground again, he was running towards the sitting room with one eye closed and counting loudly. He got a little mixed up between seven and six, but for the most part he got to ten easy enough. Fred and George went to keep the boy occupied and Hermione smiled to herself. Those boys would make great fathers one day.

"What exactly happened?" Ginny asked quietly, mindful of the little boy only in the next room.

"Pettigrew was delusional," Hermione said. "He had this notion that the Harry's Prophecy was actually Teddy's and thought that if he brought Teddy to the Dark Lord that he'd be accepted back into his ranks. He was the one following Andromeda in France. He's been at this for years, just waiting for her to have Teddy with her. He found her in New Zealand. Krum is her Secret-Keeper and is going to see her now, but…"

Molly with watery eyes put the wand that Peter Pettigrew had with him on the table.

"That's Andromeda's," Ginny said, her freckles looking even darker on her ashen face.

"And we haven't gotten word from her about any attack," Arthur said sorrowfully. "Unless he wiped her memory, but that seems unlikely, sadly. Pettigrew was crazed, obsessed… out of control."

"Is the bastard dead?" Ginny demanded tightly, her blue eyes darkening a shade.

Everyone hesitated, but they nodded.

"Good," Ginny said, her hands clenching. "Who do I have to thank?"

"Malfoy," Harry said quietly.

Blinking, Ginny looked around. "Malfoy was here?"

Resting her elbows on the table, Hermione cradled her head in her hands and nodded. She rubbed her eyes and sighed.

"Is he still around? I want to shake that snake's hand," Ginny said fiercely.

"Ginny," Arthur reprimanded gently.

Tossing her hands in the air, Ginny said, "What? I can't be happy that traitorous, evil, self-serving _rat_ is dead? The rest of you are acting like you just came back from the funeral of a loved one and I just don't understand _why_!"

"You weren't here, Ginny," Neville said quietly. "It was very frightening. And quite traumatic for some of the kids. We were in the cellar and we heard all of it happening right above us."

Luna nodded. "It was scary…"

"Your mother was almost hurt, Ginny, you might try to be more sensitive," Arthur said, rubbing his wife's back soothingly. "And it's very possible Viktor will return to tell us we've lost a friend."

"Viktor went alone?" Ginny said, her brow furrowing in concern. "Are you sure about that? What if Pettigrew had allies?"

"We doubt it," Arthur told her. "He's been hiding from everyone these last few years. The Ministry, the Dark Lord, the Order… And for New Zealand is very safe. They were completely unaffected by the war."

"Still," Ginny said, crossing her arms. "You think we'd be a little more careful? There's this thing called the 'buddy system' we should work on instilling!"

They heard the Floo and they all turned to the kitchen entrance eagerly.

In walked Viktor Krum. He'd activated the emergency Portkey he had for Andromeda's hideout and looks slightly unsteady on his feet. He was up to his elbows in dirt and his trousers were stained with grass stains to his knees.

All he did was look everyone in the eye and nod silently, the pain evident in his eyes. Molly started sniffling again, Harry hung his head, Neville looked deeply troubled and one tear ran down Luna's cheek. Ginny frowned deeply, but went to offer her mother comfort with her father.

Guilt washed over Hermione. She closed her eyes, regretting every bad thing she'd ever thought about the woman.

"I buried her on a hill," he reported somberly. "Vhere the light touches ven it rises."

"Someone has to tell Tonks's portrait," Luna said sadly. "I will, I suppose."

"And Teddy," Harry said, his eyes falling shut. "I will."

"The entire Tonks family gave their lives for the cause," Arthur said. "We should honor them in some way."

…~oOo~…

It was a bad day. When they all returned to Mould-on-the-Wold, Tonks's cries could be heard through that entire half of the manor, breaking everyone's heart. Ted Tonks sat in the same frame as his daughter, trying to comfort the inconsolable girl.

The kids were all still nervous, but they all participated when Fred and George brought them clay to make little shapes and things from them. A crying Teddy, who didn't entirely understand what had happened to his grandmother but was distraught over it, made an impression with his hand in the clay. He painted it blue.

Teddy clung to Harry like a baby koala for the rest of the day.

The children made little teapots, abstract pieces, bowls, little hats, and many other little trinkets. They shaped hearts and diamonds and four-leaf clovers for good luck. They'd all met Andromeda and were asked to make something that reminded them of her. For the older kids who'd had the privilege to know Tonks when she was alive made baubles for her.

It was nighttime by the time they were all finished. While the children ate, the twins baked the clay in the yard, and when they went out, they had stuck together and stacked all of the little trinkets into a shapeless statue, a little tower of each piece they made. It was a menageries of train cars and bicycles and stars and tea-cups. And right in the middle was Teddy's blue handprint – it was only right as he was the last remaining descendant of the Tonks family tree. Because Andromeda had never truly been a Black, she'd always marched to the beat of her own drum and threw herself wholeheartedly into the family she and her husband created.

On the very top of the abstract structure, they lit an undying candle and they left this little memorial in Grimmauld Place in the sitting room. The candle wouldn't ever die out and the wax wouldn't melt. It would stay that way until someone snuffed it out.

…~oOo~…

That night Teddy insisted on staying with Harry, which sort of hurt Hermione a little, but she understood. She had taken care of Teddy when he was still a baby, but Harry was in his most recent memories. They had that bond that only boys had.

Hermione wanted a few moments with the newly made statue after all the students were sent to bed. When she arrived in the Grimmauld Place fireplace, she found Ron sitting in the armchair, leaning back with a glass of scotch and staring pensively at the statue. He didn't look angry, even though that was really the only emotion he showed these days. He looked haunted though, with dark rings under his glassy eyes. He was either pissed drunk or had been crying.

When he saw her enter the room, Ron said, "She was nice. A pain in everyone's arse, but nice." His voice was a little groggy, but perfectly clear. He'd been crying then.

"Yes, she was," Hermione said, hugging her stomach. She'd felt cold to her core all day. It didn't help that it also felt like the longest day of her life.

"Heard Malfoy did something useful for once," Ron said, throwing back the rest of the amber liquid. He only winced and then sighed before grabbing his walking stick and pushed himself onto his feet. "I'm glad he's dead. I know it's not the Gryffindor thing to say, but I am. Mum raised us to believe all life is precious, but there are some people who just don't deserve to live. They do more damage than good. They ruin lives, kill innocent Muggles and nice women, betray their best friends. It's those kinds of people who are better off gone. Don't you think?"

Hermione considered this. Ron was always one to hold grudges, the one who gave into the darker side of him a bit easier than the rest. It's what made him strong, what made him determined, and what made him who he was. But this felt different.

After a length of silence, Hermione said gently, "I'm not ready to give up my faith in people just yet, Ron. It's the only thing keeping me standing."

With a sad look, Ron limped over to Hermione and gave her a half-hearted, teasing chuck to the chin. "You're one of the good ones," Ronald said. "Too good, maybe." He paused. "I know you're probably pretty hacked off at your boyfriend for executing Pettigrew like that, but don't be too harsh on him."

Hermione blinked and as she opened her mouth, not sure what she was going to say, Ron shook his head and said, "Yeah, yeah, the dumb one figured it out. Figure it might've taken Harry a bit longer, though. I'm fine. Pissed off, yeah, but you caught me at a soft moment and I don't have it in me to yell at your for it. But I should warn you that Harry's a bit beaten up over it."

"I know," Hermione sighed.

"You've grown into quite the heartbreaker," Ron said with the tiniest of smirks.

"Oh, have I?" Hermione said wryly.

"Yes, but I was first," Ron said firmly. "I won't let anyone think otherwise. I was the _original_ Hermione Granger Heartbreak."

"Technically, Viktor was," Hermione pointed out lightly.

"Naw," Ron said, waving the notion off. "I fancied you first. I reserve that right."

Hermione chuckled, overjoyed to see a little bit of the old Ronald Weasley shine through the angry, grouchy, closed-off new Ron. "I'll make sure to alert the press."

"You better," he said. He pressed a friendly kiss to her forehead and said, "Best be on your way in case your boyfriend decides to pay you a visit."

Hermione frowned at the thought. "It was pretty scary to see him like that," she said.

"Well, sure, Draco Malfoy's a scary guy," Ron said with a shrug. "He's gotten all Snape-like, it's uncanny. But even if you don't agree, he did what he had to do to protect you and my family and that's what a man does. He protects the people he loves. And I've been found sorely lacking in that category as of late, so I can only be grateful to him… which irks me more than anything."

"Ronald Weasley, you are a conundrum," Hermione said, shaking her head.

"Naw, just drunk, sleepy, moody, and sad," Ron said. "Go on, now. No use spending your night around us forgotten ones." He looked over at the statue forlornly. "It's too depressing."

Unsure of what to say to that, Hermione turned and ducked into the fireplace, waving to Ron once more before returning to Mould-on-the-Wold. The sad little wave he'd given her in return just before she was swallowed by green flames had left a sharp pang in her chest.

Returning to the quiet, dark manor left her feeling empty. Everyone was in bed, and even if they weren't sleeping, they wanted to be left alone with their thoughts.

Hermione went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea to hopefully calm the uneasy feeling in her stomach. But even tea couldn't cure the squeezing tension in her belly when Draco walked into the kitchen, looking dead on his feet.

He walked right up to her and she held rigidly still. There was the smallest glint of hurt in his eyes at how tense she was, but he bent down to kiss the tip of her nose anyway.

"I don't regret it," Draco said, getting straight to the point. She was grateful for his forwardness, he never dilly-dallied. "I regret not being smarter about it. It was an impulse kill, I had to do it. But the second I did, I realized that the Dark Lord could never know. He wanted Pettigrew alive and if I disobeyed his orders… and even explaining how I got the opportunity or how I found him would be messy. Peter Pettigrew needed to die and that I don't regret."

Hermione shuddered and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"You just said that you weren't," Hermione pointed out.

"I'm sorry that I've made you feel this way," Draco said lowly. "Conflicted and nervous around me. I would never hurt you, though, Hermione."

"I know that," Hermione said firmly. "I'm just…still a little shaken from today."

"Do you want me to go?" he offered.

Hermione thought about this. Did she? Maybe she needed the time to think and she couldn't do that with him there. But maybe she needed him to comfort her… Never mind, that was a laugh. Draco wasn't a coddler. But he would make her forget. He would make her smile. He would lighten the mood with a terribly cynical, rude comment about someone in the Order.

But her head felt cloudy. And she just wanted to sleep.

"Can you just… hold me?" Hermione said, feeling defeated. "Just for the next few hours before you have to go."

"I'll hold you for as long as you like," Draco promised.

…~oOo~…

The thud of a body hitting the floor above her played over and over in Chelsea's head. The memory of being in that stuffy basement and hearing every little thing happening above her was… soul-shaking. They heard the threats, the sound of ricocheting hexes, and then the loud drop of a body.

"Are you alright?" Margot asked. She was spending almost every other night at the manor now. She bunked with Chelsea, the two of them sleeping head-to-foot on the bed.

"No," Chelsea told her honestly. "Not really."

"Me neither," Margot said. "It was scary. We are always being told about escape routes and hidden rooms and emergency cellars, but it all just seemed like too much precaution. But now…"

"The threat is real," Chelsea filled in.

They were both quiet and they could hear Tonks's sniffling from the hallway.

"It is sad," Margot said. "She is a portrait, not the real soul of Tonks, so she really, truly can never see 'er mother again. Unless a portrait is made for Andromeda, but that won't 'appen for a long time."

Chelsea nodded.

They both jumped when there was a light knock on the door.

Chelsea padded over to the door hesitantly and opened it only a crack. Standing outside was Adam. He held a blanket and his pillow, looking embarrassed.

"Margot here?" he said, peeking he head through.

"Yes," Chelsea said.

"Erm… can I hang out for a bit?" he asked. "Can't sleep."

Chelsea just opened the door further, letting him in. They spent a few hours talking, even playing a few rounds of Exploding Snaps, and ultimately, Adam fell asleep on the carpet. Chelsea was dreamless for the first time in weeks.

Although, Margot did snore like a freight train.

…~oOo~…

When Draco woke up to find a small boy tucked under his arm where he thought Hermione was, a part of him wanted to get up and leave, but another just wanted to enjoy the peace and quiet for once. Teddy had obviously really crawled between he and Hermione, nuzzling himself right between their chests and under their arms. His hair was blonde while he slept and absolutely unruly, sticking up everywhere.

Hesitantly, Draco brought his hand up to Teddy's head and smoothed down the soft locks. They stayed down and the boy rolled a little. Draco couldn't help but smirk when he saw one of the boy's hands firmly locked around a fistful of Hermione's curls, the other one lodged in his mouth. Draco wondered if he was too old to be sucking on his thumb, but decided it didn't matter.

And for a few minutes, Draco could fantasize about a future where he woke up to a blonde little boy and Hermione every morning. The overcrowding warmth of an overfull bed, the smell of baby oil and strawberry shampoo, the feeling like the world could crash around him and he wouldn't care because he had everything he needed within arm's reach.

Teddy's little body jerked in his sleep, lost in his dream, and Draco saw Hermione wince at having her hair tugged. Gently, Draco dislodged Teddy's hand from her hair and saw Hermione's face relax and sigh, adjusting her head and falling deeper into sleep. Teddy rolled closer into Draco's chest, his now-empty fist clutching Draco's t-shirt.

Fatherhood had always been such an unfathomable thing until that moment. It could happen, Draco realized. Maybe not now, but someday, maybe they'd live in a world where he could raise a family, break traditions, and have mornings like these. Maybe. It was a big "maybe".

But not altogether impossible.

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	15. In Which They Play Charades

A/N. Guys, my birthday has passed (sorry I didn't post on the day of, I've been swamped with work, they're adding a bunch of hours because of the holiday season). AND IT'S ALMOST REMMUS'S FIRST BIRTHDAY! I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas! What was your favorite gift this year? Mine was a new tattoo!

Thank you all SO much for the reviews last chapter, they really lifted my spirits! I'm just happy and relieved to hear that the reviews didn't drop because you hated it!

Writers block suchs.

…~oOo~…

Chapter Fourteen: In Which They Play Charades

It was another bad day. Chelsea's head hurt constantly. There was almost always movement and flashes in her peripheral vision. It was putting her on edge and she didn't like it. She found herself to be more uncomfortable than usual, which was saying something.

"… tell me what Muggle 'politician' was the crutch of Grindelwald's ultimate plan to dominate Europe and, ultimately, the world?" Miss Hermione asked.

Silence ensued. Adam scratched his nose, Yvette swatted a fly, and Chelsea was still rubbing her head, trying to massage out the headache. Her professor's words sounded as if they were coming through a tunnel.

Their teacher sighed. "Anyone want to guess? He's quite infamous. Come on, guys. Yvette, do you have a guess?"

Yvette just huffed and shook her head.

"What does it even matter?" Adam demanded. "We're leaving at the end of the month, anyway. What's the point in continuing lessons?" 

Hermione gave him an admonishing look. "Because this is a school. And someday, you might return to the magical world and it's my duty to make sure you know something of its history and how it works."

"We're not even really part of the magical world now, so it's not like we'll ever be," Adam said, sounding annoyed but also disenchanted. "You tell us all about these awesome places and these awesome people and we've never seen any of them, we just have to trust you. Well, what's so great about the wizarding world if it can't keep the peace for more than a decade? All we've been learning about is their wars, after all. The Goblin Wars, Grindelawald's War, the First Wizarding War, the Seconing Wizarding War, and it seems it's going for the trifecta, isn't it?"

Unfortunately, he was right. With a sigh, Hermione perched herself on the edge of her desk and considered his words. "You're right," she told him. "You're completely right. Before the Goblins, it was Salazar Slythern, and as far back as you can imagine, we've been at war. But it's also a world worth fighting for. For every evil witch and wizard I've met, I've met even more good ones. Right now it may not look like the odds are in our favor, but it won't be that way forever. And someday children will sit behind desks, just like you are now, and ask how the peace can be kept if there's been all this war… it will be because we didn't give up.

"Now," Hermione continued, putting on her teacher face again. "Who was it? The so-called politician? Anyone? World War II era? He was quite infamous…"

…~oOo~…

"_I'm not saying she doesn't belong 'ere," Mag said under her breath, yanking a bobbypin out of her giant nest of multi-colored hair. That day, she'd braided a lot of it and wound it into a messy bun of plaits. "I am just saying is it suspicious for 'er to come back out of nowhere."_

"_It's not out of 'nowhere'," Chelsea said begrudgingly. She paused, cocking her head at Mag getting down on her knees next to the door. "What are you doing? You have a wand, don't you?"_

"_Tracked by the Ministry," Mag said as she picked the lock with a bobbypin and a pocketknife. _

"_Mine's not," Chelsea said, deeply confused. _

"_Yes, but it's so much more fun this way," Mag said, hearing the lock click and then pushing open the door. "I'm getting pretty good at breaking and entering the Muggle way."_

_Shaking her head, Chelsea just entered the house with Mag. It was a musty old place, covered in a thick blanket of dust. Chelsea cast a _Lumos _and looked around. The floorboards creaked under each step they took. _

"_Anyway," Mag said as they began looking around. The walls were filled with portraits of famous people. "Let's get back to the Yvette crisis."_

"_There's no crisis," Chelsea said simply. _

"_She just dropped back into our lives! Out of the blue! No explanation, no warning!"_

"_That isn't a crisis," Chelsea said again, rolling her eyes. In the old sitting area was a desk. She slid open the drawer carefully and found a large stack of parchment. The ink on the pages had faded, but the words were still partially readable. The last page was cut short mid-sentence. Curious, Chelsea took the manuscript and put it in her saddlebag. If nothing else, the Professor would certainly be interested. _

"_She's been back for three days and she's already moving in on Adam," Mag pointed out. "You're not at all concerned?"_

_Chelsea replied casually, "Why would I be?"_

"_Because, you and 'im are –"_

"_Stop," Chelsea said, holding up a hand before Mag could go further. "Can we please be done with this conversation?" she said pleadingly. _

"_Not until you admit that something 'as to be done."_

_Chelsea stared at Mag, waiting for her to explain exactly what she meant. _

"_Yvette is trouble! It's 'er fault we got into such big trouble with the Professor five years ago. With the pie incident."_

"_That was our fault," Chelsea said, arching an eyebrow. "We stole from her and blackmailed her."_

"_You obviously remember the entire situation differently than I do."_

_Chelsea sighed. Sometimes Mag was downright delusional. She would prefer to remember things how she wanted to remember them and expect everyone else to just play along. _

"_Don't just stand there and do your Chelsea Thing," Mag said, her nose scrunching. "I don't see you as often now. Just staring and sometimes blinking or shrugging isn't a very nice thing to do to a friend who's all cooped up in the Ministry most days."_

"_Sorry," Chelsea said, slightly embarrassed. "I just… don't have much to say."_

"_I know," Mag sighed. "You never really did."_

_Shrugging, Chelsea said again, "Sorry."_

"_Quit saying sorry. It's not a big deal. It's just 'ow you are." Mag paused for a moment. "Though, you really should 'ave someone you can talk to. Besides the Professor."_

"_I don't…really talk to her either," Chelsea said, finding a very old bottle of scotch in the liquor cabinet and put it in her bag as well. A certain someone had a birthday coming up who would especially enjoy that. "I do, I just… don't. It's complicated."_

"_Do you talk to 'er about Adam?"_

"_Why are you so hung up on Adam today?" Chelsea asked, needing to know. _

"_You're sleeping with 'im," Mag stressed. "And now 'e is showing the first tart to come around a little too much attention, I think." _

_Pinching the bridge of her nose, Chelsea said, "Adam is my best friend."_

"_No. 'E is your fuck buddy."_

_Chelsea made a sound of frustration. "And that means he's no longer my friend?"_

"_That is exactly what it means."_

"_Where do you come up with this stuff?" Chelsea demanded, getting steadily more annoyed. _

"_It's common knowledge to anyone that isn't Chelsea Baker."_

"_Can we please just find the snake skin," Chelsea said, hating that she was so obvious to the social norm. _

"_Okay," Mag said, looking around the room apprehensively. "This place _is_ pretty creepy."_

"_Of course it is," Chelsea said quietly. "It's been abandoned since '97 when Bathilda Bagshot died."_

…

"Chelsea, are you alright?"

Wrenching upward, Chelsea almost knocked her head into Adam's. Adam had been bent over her, poking her cheek, trying to prod her from her slumber on the breakfast table. She blinked wildly, looking around, her breath coming in short, quick pants.

She seemed relieved when she saw she was at breakfast. But then embarrassed to find quite a few sets of eyes looking at her curiously.

"You almost fell asleep in your porridge," Adam said. "Missed it by an inch."

"Are you okay, though, Chelsea?" Margot asked.

"I'm fine, Mag." And then Chelsea's eyes widened when she realized what she'd said.

Margot's brow furrowed. "Mag? No one's called me that before…"

"S-sorry," Chelsea said, her cheeks burning deep red. She dropped her hands in her lap and stared at them.

"Don't apologize," Margot said, her blue eyes suddenly bright. "I like it, actually. I've always dreaded my name, but now… Mag. Yes, I do quite like it." The more she mulled it over, the more she seemed to like it.

Covering her face, Chelsea wanted to smack herself.

"It is good," Yvette said with an evil smile on her face. "Mag the Hag."

"Yvette Lane the Ultimate Pain," Margot – now Mag, apparently – shot back without even blinking.

"Mag the Drag!"

"Are you just going to keep rhyming things with Mag? Really, try being creative for once," Mag said, seeming infinitely bored with Yvette's antics. "I'll help you get started. Bag, lag, slag, gag, shag, nag –"

"I think you can stop there, I think." They all turned to find Mr. Potter standing over their table, looking amused. "Try not to call one another names, okay? It isn't polite and Hermione wouldn't be thrilled to hear it."

"Where is the Professor?" Bag asked, not seeing Miss Hermione in the dining room.

"At a meeting," Mr. Potter said with a smile. His hair was rumpled, as usual, and his hands were tucked in his pockets. "You'll see her later for lessons."

Curious as always, Adam asked, "What kind of meeting?"

"That's Hermione's business," Mr. Potter said vaguely. Then he gave them each a look. "And no snooping, you understand?"

"Snooping?" Adam said innocently. "Us?" He wasn't fooling anyone.

Smirking, Mr. Potter said, "Right. Because you're all perfect angels. Stay out of trouble." He then left them and walked to the teacher's table.

…~oOo~…

"Kingsley, how have you been feeling?" Hermione asked, sitting down in the Grimmauld library across from the tall, thin man. He looked significantly better than he did when he was first sprung from Azkaban, but he was still no longer the large, powerful, proud man he'd once been. During the Second War, he'd reminded Hermione of an oak tree, but now he was merely a shadow of that strength.

His eyes burnt with determination, though. After all that time, Kingsley hadn't given up.

"Better," Kingsley said with a nod. "Much, much better. Which I have you to thank for." He bowed his head slightly in thanks.

"It was a team effort," Hermione said, with a smile.

Gripping his coffee between his large hands, Kingsley said, "I want to talk to you about the Pettigrew incident."

Hesitating only for a moment, Hermione nodded.

"Is there any weight in the accusations Pettigrew made?" Kingsley asked gravely. "About Teddy."

"No," Hermione stressed. "Teddy's birthday doesn't fall anywhere near Harry's and he has no mark that makes him You-Know-Who's equal. Peter Pettigrew was deranged and ready to do whatever it took to get him back in his master's good graces. He was never the cleverest man and even a stupider rat."

Kingsley looked mollified by this answer, nodding slightly. "Alright. It would be a new problem altogether if there was even a seed of truth in Pettigrew's claims."

"There isn't," Hermione said confidently.

"Good," Kingsley said, nodding his head. "I am relieved to hear it. Before you go, though, I have a few more things I'd like to discuss with you. I still don't completely understand what happened with Mr. Potter's… revival."

"We'll need a pot of tea for that explanation."

"I don't wish to take up all of your time –"

"Don't worry about that," Hermione said, standing up. "I'll be right back with tea and we can sort through all of this madness. I still don't understand it completely, myself."

"I have another meeting lined up, so I hope you don't mind if another Order member joins us."

"And who might that –"

"Me," a voice joined in, walking through the door from the foyer.

Hermione couldn't help but be slightly surprised to see Draco standing there in his suit, looking as aloof as ever, but also a tad suspicious. His suit was charcoal grey and his hair was neatly combed.

"Although," Draco continued, "I don't think the overlapping of meetings is a happy accident. Is it, Kingsley?"

Kingsley just folded his hands and said, "In only a short while you two have created quite a bit of madness."

"How so?" Hermione asked, her heart thudding for some reason – and it wasn't because Draco was in the room. She suddenly felt nervous like she had been sent to the Headmaster's office for a talking-to.

"You both had your hand in Mr. Potter's resurrection, you each have taken great strides forward in the cause, together you orchestrated Skeeter's blackmail and my emancipation, and now… there has been some talk in the Order about you two."

"Being in hiding makes them bored," Draco said rigidly. "The only thing they have to do is gossip. There's no weight in their words."

Eyebrows rose, Hermione looked over at Draco in surprise only to find he wasn't looking back. He wouldn't even meet her eyes. She suddenly felt something akin to…betrayal. Just the other day Draco had almost proudly spoken openly about their relationship in front of Harry of all people. They hadn't been hiding anything, but now it felt like they were. Or, rather, it felt like Draco was hiding Hermione away.

"Are you sure?" Kingsley asked speculatively.

Draco nodded. "Right, Granger?" His eyes were flat, utterly disconnected.

Whatever reason Draco had for keeping their relationship a secret in front of Kingsley, it must have been a good one. That's what she told herself as she nodded, sighing inwardly. She was feeling deflated. She had been so happy to be open and honest about her and Draco, but there was obviously something going on in Draco's mind that she wasn't aware of.

"I'll make us tea and we can talk about Harry together," Hermione said, turning and walking straight towards the kitchen.

"I'll help you," Draco said, following behind.

Once in the kitchen, Hermione arched an eyebrow at Draco, waiting for his explanation while she filled the kettle.

"Kingsley has been gaining some support from old friends, which is why he hasn't been to a lot of the more recent meetings," Draco said quietly, following right behind Hermione as she prepared the tea. He was comfortably close, his hand occasionally brushed her hip tenderly. "The Ministry in Africa is pretty airtight. It will be the Dark Lord and Snow's number one obstacle in their quest for world domination. But the reason why it is so impenetrable is because it is fiercely neutral in all world matters. They don't even have a member in the Confederacy to represent them. They are independent and very strict.

"Because of this, an alliance will be a hard sell. There will be many visits, meetings, deals, contracts, and favors if there is any hope they'll help. Which means they'll have to see the Order at its best."

"What does any of that have to do with us?" Hermione demanded, maybe too sharply, leaning on the counter. She felt disgruntled.

Behind her, Draco pressed his chest to her back and rested his chin on her shoulder, holding her like that while she stewed.

"As Shacklebot said, we're sort of a big deal in the Order," Draco said quietly, right into her ear. His breath was hot and ticklish. "Our accomplishments are his most important bargaining chips. He can bring the things we've done to the Africans and say 'look how gifted my people are, it'd be worth the alliance'. But if we were to be romantically involved, we would seem less professional as a unit. In political dealings like these, it's best to leave all mentions of romance and sex behind closed doors."

It made sense. It really did.

It still left Hermione feeling disappointed though.

"Shacklebot needs the peace of mind," Draco said, pushing a curl behind her ear. "He can't have anything botching this deal. It will take long enough to prove ourselves as it is to the Africans." He leaned in close to kiss her temple. "Just play nice for the rest of the meeting with Shacklebot and I'll make it worth it afterwards."

"I worry you're taking too much time out of your day to spend it with me," Hermione said while he continued to trail soft little kisses down the side of her face.

"I have my time perfectly managed," Draco said. "I know when I can be with you and when I can't."

Hermione sighed and finished setting the tray of tea things, feeling flushed from the gentle attention Draco was paying to her. She knew it was because he could see how sad she was, but it still felt nice. Any touch of his felt better than nice. She was tempted to drag him into the pantry and have her way with him right then and there.

But there was tea to be served. And a meeting to be had. And a charade to be played.

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	16. In Which They Become Runaways

A/N. I'm so sorry about the delay! I've had the worst case of writer's block ever and haven't been able to put pen to paper (or rather, fingers to keyboard). The mood to write has just been stolen from me.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MY BEAUTIFUL BABY BOY, I LOVE YOU TO THE MOON AND BACK. MY PERFECT LITTLE REMUS *hearts*. I cannot believe he is one year old. It really is mind-blowing.

AND HAPPY NEW YEAR'S! Who are you kissing at midnight? *wink wink*

…~oOo~…

Chapter Fifteen: In Which They Become Runaways

"I've got a plan!"

Chelsea waited for Mag to reveal her plan.

"But it's secret," Mag said quietly, her eyes shifting around the room as if looking for spies.

Chelsea sighed. Mag had a flare for the dramatic. It was "Mag" now, actually. Margot insisted on being called the name Chelsea had accidentally christened her with and it really was there to stay. Chelsea would know. She saw it all in the future.

Chelsea's headache became a constant, dull throb in the back of her head. She could ignore it mostly, but once she started thinking too hard or seeing ghosts – she had decided they were ghosts, or at least she hoped they were – it got worse. And as Chelsea grew more tired and more drained, Mag seemed to grow brighter and more energetic. It was like looking straight at the sun for too long.

And part of Chelsea missed Adam. He was even more energetic and such, but at least he supplied the conversation all on his own. Mag seemed to expect responses.

Adam had been spending a lot of his time flying lately. He was pretty upset ever since the teachers announced they'd be going home. And it was only a week before Adam would go off to his side of the country and her and Mag would run away to wherever they went.

More than anything, Chelsea wanted Adam to come. But Adam had a family. He had an older brother and sister and a mum and a dad. Chelsea's father was goodness-knows-where, on top of the fact she was fairly sure she was losing her mind, and Mag's mother was the enemy. Adam had the chance at living a totally normal, Muggle life. Chelsea and Mag didn't. It was a sad truth.

"Come," Mag said, waving for Chelsea to follow. She did.

They walked to Chelsea's room and sat on the bed. Chelsea rubbed her forehead, feeling the throbbing worsen, but trying her best to pay attention.

"The next night that Malfoy comes to stay the night, we'll use the Floo to get to 'is flat," Mag said quietly. "The flat is warded pretty tightly, but there's an escape hatch for emergencies that lands us right behind the old bookstore in Diagon Alley. We can take the alleyways from there, avoid all the Ministry officials crawling around. The only problem is that I do not know my way around Diagon Alley. Do you?"

Sadly, Chelsea shook her head.

"We need a map," Mag said, biting the inside of her cheek. "Where could we get one?"

Shrugging, Chelsea considered this question. Where could they get a map of Diagon Alley without raising suspicion?

Then she had an idea.

…~oOo~…

The next day was their last workshop with the Weasley twins. They taught them how to make tiny fireworks that made animals like cats meowing or swallows fluttering around before burning out quickly.

After class, everyone filtered out, but Chelsea lagged behind and slowly approached the twins.

"Oh, no," Fred said dramatically. "This one. The deviously quiet one."

George smirked and said, "We're all out of Kissing Concoction, love, especially for you."

Chelsea felt a blush creep up her cheeks. "I'm… sorry."

"No need for apologies," Fred said with a shrug. "It was a brilliant prank."

"Yeah," George said, "reminded us of something we would do when we were at Hogwarts."

"Especially to wind Granger up," Fred said, nodding with a wide grin.

"You should have heard her ranting and raving after your little stunt, birdie. It was priceless."

"From now on, we are at your service."

In unison, the twins bowed.

Chelsea tried hiding a chuckle, but it came through. She shuffled her feet self-consciously and said, "I just was wondering… where I could get a map of Diagon Alley?"

Both twins made identical expressions of surprise, their eyebrows lifting up into their hair.

"What would you need a map of the Alley for?" George asked. "You're going home at the end of the week, aren't you?"

"I just…never got to see it. And I wanted to know what it's like." She glanced up through her lashes nervously. 

"I'm not sure if I believe you," Fred said suspiciously. "But if you're lying, you're good at it."

George nodded. "This whole meek and innocent thing works for you. Just make sure to use it for good and not evil, yeah?"

"We'll have your map for you tomorrow," Fred said. "We'll come by and ask Granger for a haircut and give it to you then."

Chelsea smiled, a sincere smile. "Thank you, Mr. Fred, Mr. George." She gathered her things from her desk and ran out.

Crossing his arms, George turned to Fred with a knowing look. "She's running, isn't she?"

"Most definitely," Fred confirmed. "But who are we to stop her?"

"She's only a girl. Barely thirteen."

"She'd be safer wherever she's going than she is here," Fred pointed out. "If she isn't going back to her family, she has good reason not to. The least we can do is make sure she gets out of Diagon Alley safely."

Nodding, George ground his back teeth in thought. "Tracing spell on the map?"

"Of course," Fred said as if it were obvious.

…~oOo~…

Three nights later, Mag was just finishing up her homework in the sitting room with one of the older kids when Draco Malfoy came through the Floo.

"We'll be staying here tonight," Draco informed the girl without breaking step. He strode out of the room.

Margot grinned widely and threw her quill down. "Thank you, Nigel, I think I get it now," she said so quickly Nigel barely caught the words. She sprinted out, leaving all her books and homework behind.

…

That night, Chelsea and Adam were sitting up in their tree. Chelsea was lying on her back on one of the thickest boughs and looking up at the strange way day, twilight, and night melted together. The sun sat on one end of the horizon and the moon already hung high above the other, peeking out of an indigo cloud. It looked like a tray of water-paints had spilt together.

"I can't believe we're going home," Adam said, his voice uncharacteristically somber. "For two years, this has been our home."

Chelsea didn't know what to say to him.

"I'll miss you," he said, so quietly Chelsea wasn't sure if she was meant to hear it or not.

"We'll write," Chelsea said, the only thing she could think to say.

"It won't be the same," Adam said.

She couldn't argue with that. He was right. It wouldn't be the same at all.

"You have to promise to practice the Patronus charm Mr. Potter was teaching us," Adam said firmly. "I don't have it yet, either. But… if we can do that, we can send each other messages. That's what he said, didn't he? And he cast his first Patronus when he was thirteen… so we can do it too."

"We can't practice magic in the Muggle world," Chelsea said. "Professor Granger said –"

"Forget what Professor Granger said," Adam said harshly, climbing down from his limb above her and sat next to her feet on hers. "I can't lose you, Chelsea. I won't go day to day wondering whether you're okay or not."

"It's for our own safety," Chelsea said, sitting up and drawing her eyes away from the sky. "It's to protect us."

Looking disgruntled and frustrated, Adam said, looking at his dangling feet, "I'd protect you. If I was allowed to."

Embarrassed and shy, Chelsea said, "I know."

He looked slightly mollified and looked up at Chelsea. Quirking his head to the side, his eyes suddenly furrowed. "Have your eyes always been green?"

Confused, Chelsea nodded.

"Oh," Adam said as if he'd never noticed before. "I like them."

"Thank… you…"

And without a second of hesitation, Adam leaned forward and planted a quick kiss right on Chelsea's mouth. He was beet red when he pulled away and he immediately began climbing down the tree. He scrambled down like a monkey and then ran towards the house.

For a long minute, Chelsea practically shut down. She just sat there, her heart beating fast, her head rushing. She couldn't look at the ground, she would get vertigo. She blinked and blinked and tried to clear the madness in her head.

The thing that drew her out of it was Mag's voice from below. "It's time, Chelsea!" the older girl said with excitement. "Time to get our things!"

…~oOo~…

Smiling to himself, Draco listened through the door. No sound. Wait, no, there was a sound. Creaking, like someone shifting weight on the floorboards. Footsteps. She was pacing. Which wasn't a good thing, but at least she was awake.

Opening the door as quietly as possible, Draco slipped in, and found Hermione pacing in front of the desk in her bedroom, looking at her feet and mumbling to herself. She was so distracted, she obviously didn't see or hear him come in.

He sat on the bed and waited for her to notice he was there.

It took a solid three minutes.

Hermione gave jump, her head whipping around wildly, like he'd appeared out of thin air. "When did you get here?" she asked, astonished.

"A few minutes ago," he said. "You were in your own little world, so I thought I'd leave you there for a bit while I took a nap."

Pursing her lips and rolling her eyes, Hermione went to her desk and looked a paper. She sighed and then closed it in a book. "Didn't you have something to do this evening?" she asked, not looking at him.

"My father is supposed to visit me because I've been evading our weekly tea," Draco said. "He'll walk up to an empty flat and go home. He'll assume I'm out with Astoria."

"Margot is staying here?"

"Yes."

"That's good," Hermione said softly. "She and Chelsea should spend as much time as they can together before Chelsea is sent home." With another heavy sigh, Hermione walked over and sat on top of her duvet. "Only two more days before they're all gone, back with their families."

"Is that what you're fretting over?" Draco asked.

"Of course," Hermione said shortly.

"They're safer in the Muggle world and you know it."

"Yes, I know that," she snapped. "You don't have to remind me."

Raising a brow, Draco said curiously, "Why are you making me the bad guy?"

Hermione's scowl transformed into a pout. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to snap at you."

"What's wrong?"

Seeming to consider this herself, Hermione just shrugged.

Seeing that the conversation was going nowhere, Draco kicked off his shoes and stuffed himself under the covers. He held open the duvet and said, "Join me?"

Hermione only hesitated for a moment before taking off her socks and sliding in herself, responding when Draco wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her tight against his chest. She rested her face in his collarbone and when she took a deep breath in, she took in his dark, musky scent. It was very herbal, like a potions classroom.

"You'll miss them," Draco said. It wasn't a question. "You'll worry about them because you won't be able to contact them. You're wondering what you'll be doing when they're gone and there's no one to take care of."

Hermione nodded against his chest.

"You'll always be needed, Hermione," Draco told her. "And as for worrying about the kids… we'll do routine check-ins. There's nothing to be afraid of." 

"I just have this awful feeling," Hermione said, "and I can't put my finger on it."

"If you want time to think, I can go."

"No," Hermione said, too quickly.

Draco smirked. "Do you want to sleep?"

Hermione didn't say anything.

Draco's smile only widened. "You have to tell me, otherwise the clothes are going to start coming off very quickly. Are you tired?"

Hermione grumbled something and turned onto her belly, shoving her face into her pillow and mumbling nonsense. Draco laughed. Conflicted Hermione was one of his favorite sides of Hermione. He got to watched her demons and angels argue with one another. The one side of her said that she was worried about the children and should sleep so that the next day she could get them packed and ready to go. The other side wanted the clothes to come off. And she was going to choose one, or the other, or suffocate herself with the pillow so she wouldn't have to make the decision.

"Tell me, Hermione," Draco whispered in her ear, moving so he was bent over her, moving her hair from her neck and his brush nosing the sensitive nape. "You have to tell me if you want to sleep or not."

"Don't make me say it," Hermione complained. "My dignity has taken enough of a beating for a lifetime."

"Your dignity?"

Turning her head on its side, one cheek smushed by the pillow, she spoke. "Good little bookworm of Hogwarts, falling into bed with a snake." She huffed. "My credibility as a Gryffindor is gone."

That made Draco laugh. "Good thing it's only validated my career as a Slytherin. One of us as least gets some House credit for this affair."

"Oh, God, 'affair'," Hermione groaned. "That word. And that's what this is. Merlin, it's enough to make me become a nun and never leave the convent."

"Let's not be rash," Draco said, his smile falling.

She flipped over onto her back and looked up at him. He was propped up on his arms, his knees on either side of hers. "Draco, where is this going?"

It was Draco's turn to moan. "Not this talk. Why ruin it?"

"It's important to me," Hermione stressed.

Draco paused and thought about what he was going to say. When he spoke, he knew it wasn't the right thing to say, but it was the truth. "I have to marry Astoria."

"I know that," she answered thickly.

"And I have to stay in the position I'm in," Draco went on. "As a spy. I can't back out now."

"I know that, too."

"Then what do you want me to say?" Draco demanded, getting frustrated with this game.

Looking in his eyes, Hermione pleaded, "Say you love me."

And Draco froze inside. His heart quickened and he was finding it hard to put thoughts into words. How could he explain that he did, but couldn't say it? Not yet. Those words were all he had to give to her – the only thing in the world he could give her – but he wanted to hold onto them for when he needed them. He needed to have then when she wanted to leave them. It was the only thing he had in his back pocket.

Even if he did say it, it didn't matter.

Reaching up to her face, Draco ran his thumb over her cheekbone and to her chin. He tipped it upward and kissed her mouth gently. If he couldn't say it, couldn't even find the courage to say it, he wanted to show her.

When he pulled away and looked down at her, she didn't look appeased at all.

All she had to say was, "After you marry Astoria… this is over. I won't be yours, or anyone's, mistress. Ever."

Something shattered in Draco, but he nodded before kissing her again. For the rest of the night, he pretended he could have Hermione forever.

…~oOo~…

"Ready?" Mag asked, obviously excited. Her dark blue eyes glowed.

It was the middle of the night and everyone else in the manor was in bed and asleep. It was the perfect time to make their escape.

Something was wrong with Chelsea, though. She felt it in her bones. Her head hurt and she was feeling nauseous. And she was beginning to see more and more often things and people flickering back and forth in her peripheral vision.

But Chelsea said, "Yes."

Together they stepped into the Floo, stooping their heads, and Mag through a large handful of powder. With only a word, they were off. They were officially runaways.

…~oOo~…

Draco woke up to Hermione sprawled over him and a banging on the door. Growling, Draco dislodged himself from Hermione – her breathing pattern didn't even break, she just kept sleeping – and went to the door. He threw it open and snapped, "This better be good."

Standing there in her nightgown was the annoying blonde one. The one who reminded Draco of himself. She looked bewildered and shocked to find Draco there in his shirtsleeves and wrinkled black pants.

"Spit it out," Draco snarled, wanting to get back in bed as soon as possible. He heard Hermione rustling behind him and if this girl woke her up for no good reason, so help him –

"It's M-margot and Chelsea," she sputtered. "They're gone."

"Gone?" Hermione said with groggy shock, sitting up in bed abruptly.

"They left," Yvette said. "Through the Floo."

Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, Draco said, "_Shit_."

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


End file.
